


And Treat Our Blood as Gold

by RavenSinead



Series: Transient Eternity [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Divine Revelation, F/F, Mages and Templars, Separation, Visions, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 85
Words: 158,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenSinead/pseuds/RavenSinead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peace reigns and the world begins to settle, until the Chantry comes for what belongs to it, and deep beneath the earth, something new and never before seen emerges. The Darkspawn have gained a voice, Leliana and Salem are separated by the Maker's hand on earth, and Fate resurges, showing yet another ungentle face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Night Before Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to BioWare. I own nothing.

**Salem Cousland**

     I relaxed against the parapets of my ancestral castle, looking out onto the waving grasses of Highever. Bats flew overhead in the night sky, silhouetted by the moon. The sole sounds were the rustling of the gentle winds and the chirping of the crickets. The sunset had been a brilliant red...a good omen for tomorrow. My heart began to beat faster and a smile came to my face, unbidden.

     "Something amusing?" my brother asked, pressing a goblet of warmed wine into my hand.

     "Indeed it is." I answered, lifting the goblet and nodding to him in thanks. "I am content and that...that is now so very unfamiliar to me."

     "Cherish it while you can." he smiled, white teeth gleaming under the moon and the faint torchlight. "Tomorrow you will forswear all contentment and enslave yourself. You will never be your own again. That is why I came to join you this night. It is time to say farewell to my sister."

     "Fergus!" I laughed, stopping before I spilled the wind. "I am getting _married._ Is a wedding truly such a terrible thing?"

     "Alas, no." he grinned. "But it is a change, Salem. The subtleties of it inveigle you and you will not soon realize how drastic the alterations are. But I can promise you that they will come, sooner than you know it and stranger than you dreamt."

     "To change then." I lifted my goblet and drank deep, feeling the mellow sweet of the alcohol and the spice of cinnamon and nutmeg coat my tongue and burn my throat.

     "So you are certain this is what you want?" he asked. "There are no doubts clouding your mind?"

     Confused, I stared at him. Since his return from the Denerim court, my brother and Leliana had spent much time in each other's company. She loved him, his humor, his affability, the ease and fairness with which he managed Highever. And he treated her as he treated me: a little sister to be doted upon, teased mercilessly, protected with ferocity, and ultimately, loved.

     I parted my lips and Fergus lifted his hand to forestall my inquiries. "I am merely doing my duty, Salem." he informed me. "Much as father did for me the night before I wed Oriana. He came into my room, sat me down, looked me _right_ in the eye, and asked me if Oriana was, in truth, the woman I wished to give my soul to."

     I nodded my understanding and my heart ached as I wished for my father's presence beside me. _I wish you were here, in person, but I know you **are** there, father. You and mother both. Watching me. I hope you can see the smile that will not leave my face. I hope you can hear the song of joy within my heart. I hope you can hear the music in a world that once lay silent. Dances born of love, not blades. _

     "So," Fergus brought me back to the waking world, "what do you say, Salem Cousland? How would you answer my inquiry?"

     "With ease." I smiled, imagining my lover asleep, insistent on the ancient tradition of being apart the night before the wedding. "She has held my soul since long ago. She carried it when I was weak, healed it when I was broken. The vows we exchange on the morrow will change nothing, Fergus, save to make us even more devoted. I am inexorably hers."

     "A proper answer." he lifted his goblet and I placed mine against his in toast. "I am glad for you, Salem...though I am more glad for myself at this moment."

     "Why is that?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

     "At _last **someone**_ can call you to heel." Fergus needled me. "The way you cater to her every whim and need; mother would be so glad that at last _someone_ could gentle your spirit."

     I laughed again, an action that had become more and more familiar to me as the days passed by. "So it would seem." I agreed with him and he frowned as he lost the prospect for a good-natured argument.

     "So why are you not following your betrothed's sterling example and resting before tomorrow's grand event?" Fergus asked, turning serious. "I am quite certain Leliana would disapprove as much as I do of the dark circles beneath your eyes."

     "She is accustomed to them." I avoided the question, not wishing to reveal the true reason that I lingered here, under the moon.

     "You are ridiculous, sister." Fergus rested his hand on my shoulder and guided my eyes to his, taken aback as he saw the death in them more prominent than it had been in some time. "Salem...what is troubling you?"

     I sighed and began my confession. "I have not spent a night away form her since I returned her." I worried the edge of my lower lip with my teeth. "Leliana...Leliana makes the nightmares bearable, Fergus. No matter what the Fade presents me with, no matter the horrors of my dreams, when I wake in her arms, the terror fades. The pain is muted. I am no longer whole without her."

     "You could have told me." my brother spoke, the gentleness in his voice reminding me so much of our mother that I nearly wept. "Salem...Maker's breath...I did not know. Why? Why would you keep something like this from me?"

     "Because you worry." I ran my finger around the edge of my goblet, wondering if I could drown myself in wine and stave away the demons that haunted my dreaming. "Incessantly. Like an old grandmother."

     Fergus pursed his lips, ignoring the words that were meant to distract him from the subject. "I have every right to worry." his thumb traced the scar on my cheek. "I have spoken with Leliana enough to know some of what happened to you during the months between Howe's attack and the Landsmeet. I do not, however, know the full measure, and I will not pressure you to know it. However...does it, in truth, weigh on you so heavily?"

     "Yes." I admitted the painful truth. "Under the sun there are distractions, occupations, new memories to be made, to occupy my thoughts. But come moonrise I am alone again, with nothing but the past to haunt me. Sleep is torturous."

     "And Leliana?" Fergus asked. "Does she know the gravity of your condition?"

     "She knows enough." I pushed off of the wall and drained the wine, staring off into the dark horizon. "And, Maker bless her, she has nightmares of her own. We both do...enough horror to account for seven lifetimes."

     "So...you do not actually confide your terrifying traipses through the Fade to the one to whom you will be wed?" Fergus frowned, his tone conveying calm disapproval.

     "As I said, she knows enough." my voice grew rough, my words almost a growl. I had become accustomed to those who followed my orders without questioning; who left well enough alone at my command.

     "You are obviously mistaken in that belief." Fergus grasped my shoulder and forced me to look at him. "Because I know she loves you enough not to condemn you to a night of horror."

     "And I love her enough to submit to it for her wishes." I smiled.

     "Incorrigible." Fergus shook his head. "The both of you...my mind is not equipped for this constant bafflement."

     "Accept it." I smiled and hugged my brother. "Accept it and do not worry on my account. I will be all right."

     "Liar." Fergus accused, not inaccurate. "You said the same thing after I watched you nearly gored by a wild boar. Do you remember?"

     "Clearly." I smiled at the memory. "You saved my life that day."

     "And have you acquired so much pride as to deny your older brother the right to aid you?" he pulled out of my embrace and appraised me with my mother's eyes.

     "No." I answered. "But you can do precious little to help me in this matter. I am sorry, Fergus."

     I turned on my heel to go to my room and prepare for tomorrow.

     "I love you, little sister." Fergus called after me.

     I looked back at him, extending my hand. He squeezed it, sorrowful but understanding.

     "I love you too." I told him, leaving his calming, concerned presence, willing to endure the night's horrors for the joys of the morning.


	2. The Understated Art of Acceptance

**Leliana**

    The sun peered in the window, casting gentle light on my face, awakening me. I smiled at the comforting warmth on my cheeks, and the expression remained as I saw a spring robin hopping along the window. I stretched the slumber from my muscles and yawned, feeling my heart beating, sound and secure...amazed. 

      _This day,_ I lay back against the pillows, content to rest with my thoughts,  _will be, by far, the day of greatest joy in my life. I have delved into the deepest, dankest, most vile places on the earth; I have seen the ultimate darkness that lies within the human soul. I have danced with those of great stature and walked in the palaces of kings. I have had a god whisper secrets in my ear._

_**But,** on this day, every lie I have ever told, every deception I have ever put forth, and every misdeed I have ever committed...will be at an end. I will take on the mantle of something beautiful and pure, timeless, and inexorably  **good.**_

_Leliana Cousland..._ my lover's name joined with mine danced across my thoughts and I smiled again, giddy as I had not been in years. Elated as I had not known my soul had the capacity to bear. I sighed as a comforting, familiar scent washed over me. I rolled over, tears coming to my eyes as I stared at the pillow opposite me. 

     A bouquet of Andraste's Grace rested there, tied together by a blue and silver ribbon.  _Salem,_ my lips trembled as I buried my face in the flowers,  _you are truly perfect in every way._ _  
_

The door flew open and I jerked upright, hands casing about for the daggers I no longer had the need for. Nan bustled into the room, her form obscured by a mass of shining, glimmering cloth. She laid all the accoutrements on the table and turned to glare at me, hands on her hips.

     "Are you going to lie abed all day while the rest of us scurry with these wedding preparations? The last young bride in this house was up with cock-crow and eager to face the day. You and Salem both...incorrigible slug-a-beds."

     I laughed aloud, disentangling my legs from the sheets and getting to my feet. "I am quite certain that the last young bride in this house had not had her sleep wrested from her for months on end."

     "Don't you give me those excuses." Nan wagged her finger at me in feigned disapproval. "The Revered Mother of the Highever Chantry is a relentlessly punctual woman, and I won't have her held up for any reason. Time waits for no one, not even those who vanquished the Blight. Now into the washroom with you, for I've already taken the liberty of having your bath drawn."

     I followed the lovingly given order, leaving the bedroom at Nan's behest, shedding my robe and stepping into the steaming water, hissing as it flowed over scars, old and new. An insecurity that I had not felt in some time washed over me. No one here...save Salem, had seen these scars. No one here knew of my blood-drenched past. To them, I was simply a lay sister of the Chantry, a musician and storyteller...the woman that their liege lord's sister wished to take to wife. 

      _I do not wish for anyone here to consider me unworthy of Salem's love._ I frowned, tracing the ancient, angry scar tissue on my skin.  _Salem wears her scars in defense of her country, in the killing of a monster that threatened all life...in the salvation of those too weak to endure once again what had nearly killed them before. I can make no such claims._

     "Good heaven's, child!" Nan exclaimed from the other room. "How am I to even wrangle you into this silk and lace contraption?"

     I giggled as I rinsed my hair. "It is an Orlesian  design." I replied. "The beauty of it is its seeming complexity."

     " _Seeming_." Nan huffed and I could have sworn that a string of  _very_ improper words followed her comments. 

     I reluctantly left the warmth of the bath, shivering slightly as I toweled off and ran my fingers through my drenched hair. I set aside the towl and donned my robe, wrapping it about myself and entered the next room, feet flinching at the cold of the stone floor. 

     "Well, I am glad to see that you have some sense of alacrity." Nan smiled, twirling her finger as an indication for me to turn around. 

     I complied and she moved a chair behind me. I sat in front of an ornate mirror, a place I had been all too many times, but never once with this sense of joy. Other times of self-preparation had been with fluttering in my stomach and thoughts of the nefarious deeds to be done. Nan began to brush my hair and I thought of those other times, sitting in marble halls, in a gaggle of silk and satin and vain duchess' and ladies whose tongues were far too loose without the aid of alcohol, having talented hands tend to my hair and carefully apply powder and paint to my face. 

      _To think that I sorely missed those days, once upon a time._ I glanced at my hands, the faint scarring across the index and middle fingers where a bowstring had flayed open the skin on more than one occasion. I had not had my nails properly cared for since I had fled Val Royeaux's dungeons.  _I wanted to lay down my weapons. So many times, I had thought they were my curse; I had thought they were part of a life I never wanted again._

_But I used them to free the enslaved, to deend those who could not take up arms, to bring down demons and preserve life. In my eyes, they were redeemed...and when my bow snapped at the top of Fort Drakon, I felt a loss I did not understand. Until now._

     "You've such beautiful hair." Nan commented as she began to curl and pin and style. "It's not a color often seen in Orlais, am I correct?"

     "You are." I could not help the slight blush that crept into my cheeks. "I am afraid it is quite in need of proper care. Darkspawn blood is nearly impossible to rinse clean."

     A shudder ran through Nan's weathered hands and I could almost see the frown on her face. "I do not know, for the life of me, how you and Salem can be so bloody... _glib_...when speaking of those monstrous creatures. Gives me the shivers, thinking about such things."

     "There were many cringe-worthy moments." I agreed, relaxing against the skill of Nan's hands. 

     I felt another hair pin slide into place and Nan patted my shoulder. "All it needs now is to dry and set. Now..." she heaved a heavy sigh, "...let us attempt to get you into that dress."

     I rose, biting my lip, wishing that I could do this alone...or with Salem to help me. although I knew my lover's hands were terrifyingly ill-suited to the finger intricacies of dress, her eyes would look on me with nothing but love and acceptance. My scars were not able to be hidden, and age had not yet faded many of them. Every thing that I had endured still stood out in stark clarity on my skin. 

     "Come, child." Nan lifted the dress from the table and lifted an expectant eyebrow. "Although I doubt Salem would complain if you decided to wear nothing but your robe."

     I steadied myself, took a deep breath, and let my robe slip off of my body, allowing a stranger's eyes to examine the wreck of my skin. I closed my eyes and trembled a little, waiting for her response, for the questions, the narrowed eyes. I waited for her to believe that I was not worthy of marrying Salem. 

     However, when I looked up, Nan said nothing, simply held out the dress. I stepped into the cool, shimmering silk, and guided the elderly woman through the finer methods of adjustments. Nan wordlessly complied and I found myself wishing for something...anything...to break the silence. 

     Nan finished lacing the dress and she smoothed out the wrinkles, standin gin front of me and appraising me quietly. I stood there, on the verge of tears, waiting for the words that I dreaded. 

      _That Salem Cousland deserves something better, someone more whole._

     "You are simply  _lovely_." Nan smiled. "In spite of whatever life you've led. I'm not one to pry, but I can see you have quite a few stories to tell. Maker bless you, child. I always knew it would take someone exceptional to win my Salem's heart."

     Shock spun through me as I stared at the woman...so forgiving, so uncaring. A stupid, prideful part of me had thought that Salem's love for me blinded her; that, if she had seen me as I was without love to dim her vision, she would have turned me away.

     "Bless you, Nan." I walked to her, not caring about the dress, or the careful styling of my hair. 

     I wrapped the dear soul in a fierce embrace, thanking her with actions when words could not suffice. There was no way to tell her that she had done what so few ever had. That she had helped reaffirm my faith in myself. That she had not judged me based upon what she saw, but based upon what she witnessed of my character, and what Salem said of me. 

     "Indulge an old woman's one request." Nan whispered against my ear. "Make her happy."

     "Inasmuch as I am able," I promised as a knock rang at the door, "I will."

     Fergus stepped in, a silver circlet around his temples, the Cousland's rampant mabari embroidered in silver over the chest of his midnight blue tunic. 

     "How does the...Maker's breath." he lost his words when he looked at me. "Youlook truly spectacular, Leliana." he smiled with such warmth my heart began to flow over with joy. "Should I worn Salem of your magnificence?" he asked. "She might faint dead away at the sight."

     "I doubt that will be necessary." I ducked my head, blushing at the compliments, flushed from the warmth and acceptance of these beautiful, beautiful people.

     "You tell Salem to get down from whatever high point she's ensconced herself in and settle down." Nan insisted. "We're not yet finished." 

     "As you say." Fergus nodded and slipped from the room. 

     I stared after him in shock before collapsing into a fit of laughter. Nan simply shook her head and set back to work, helping me to prepare for the best, happiest, and purest day of my life. Today, I would join with my Salem. I would take a vow to belong to her alone. And I had never, ever in my life, desired anything more than to speak those words.


	3. Vows Most Holy

**Salem**

    "Stop fidgeting." Fergus yanked on the sleeve of my tunic, straightening a wrinkle I had made with the excessive bunching and relaxing of my shoulders. 

     The time drew nearer and my body would not remain still. However, unlike many who were soon to be wed, my tremors and tension had nothing to do with last moment fears. It had everything to do with anticipation. I  _wanted_ this as I had wanted nothing in my entire life. 

     I glowered at my brother and he repaid me with a smile. "You were as wrinkled as I on the day of your wedding," I reminded him. "I seem to recall leaving you well enough alone."

     "Ah, yes," he lifted a finger, pointing out a flaw, "but I did not taint the atmosphere of my wedding by the wearing of something so markedly unsuitable as black."

     "I am the Warden Commander of Ferelden." I defended my state of dress, the simplistic and sparse gold and black tabard of the Grey Wardens, worn over simple linens and tall, leather riding boots. "I dress as befits my station."

     "You are also the arlessa of Amaranthine." Fergus needled me. "You could have dressed according to  _that_ station and look less like a funeral mourner."

     "Still your tongue, rapscallion." I hissed as the doors opened and Highever's revered mother entered, looking imperious and severe as always. 

     "Teyrn Cousland." she acknowledged Fergus with a deep nod. 

     Fergus bowed from the waist and nudged me with his elbow when he rose, a signal to pay her the same respect. I, however, felt I had paid enough blood to the Maker that I had no need of giving undue reverence to his servants. 

     "Insouciant as ever, Salem Cousland." the revered mother shook her head. "I am peeved enough that your betrothed was once one of our lay sisters. Yet another devotee snared away from the Maker's hand by," she lifted her haughty, hooked nose and gazed down at me, "one such as  _you_."

      _I delivered Ferelden from the grip of a Blight._ _She cannot fault me,_ I smiled inside my mind, not wishing the revered mother to take her disapproval out on my brother, who would be forced to seek her council in the religious matters of Highever.  _And, I must admit, I find my advantage more than amusing._ _  
_

"No fanfare?" she took her place on the dais, examining the small room we had chosen, a small chapel my great-grandfather had built for his private worship of the Maker. It had little decoration, simple seats, and a single, high window through which the sun shone out. "I had assumed there would at least be guests." she spoke, noting the conspicuous absence of people.

     "This is a family affair." I replied. "The required witnesses will be present and that is all. I have no more desire to be in the public eye; neither does Leliana. I trust our wish for privacy will pose no issue?"

     She pursed her lips and nodded a quick answer, but she seemed perturbed by the mere mention of Leliana's name. It seemed as though she blamed me for Leliana leaving the Chantry. 

      _I cannot be accused for her departure...though I can be blamed for her not returning to it,_ the thought brought a smile to my lips. 

     "And where is the bride to be?" the mother's tone grew tight. 

     "Here." Leliana's voice carried through the small room and I turned to her. 

     All breath rushed from my body as I gazed on my beloved. She wore a gown of shimmering gold silk that made it seem as though she were clothed in sunlight. It clung to her curves and rippled with every subtle movement, giving her the appearance of something otherworldly and unattainable. Like a spirit made of pure light that exuded love and personified hope. 

      _Can...can it be? That something so radiant, so awe-inspiring...so world-shatteringly_ ** _lovely..._** _is mine?_

     Her hair hung in soft red curls around her face, tempting, tantalizing, whimsical and mesmerizing. Her eyes had been lined with kohl, making the deep ocean blue of her iris seem even more alive. She looked at me, her perfect lips curving in a smile that had supported me when all else had crumbled. That smile had brought me back from death. 

     Leliana stopped at the foot of the stairs, her eyes locked with mine, and we spoke without words and with perfect understanding. A moment of silence passed between us, a moment in which we remembered those we had lost; those we had wished could witness this moment in tangible flesh. Those we had loved. The revered mother nodded at me in a rare show of approval. 

     Fergus left my side and went to Leliana, extending his arm to her. She took it and he led her up the few stairs, Nan following behind with Leliana's train. I could control neither the shaking in my hands nor the tremors in my knees that threatened to fail me. Every word I had planned to speak, every emotion I had wished to convey vanished from my mind as I gazed at the sole definition of beauty I would ever again accept. 

     Fergus lifted Leliana's hand and placed it within mine, a tradition as old as time...one that Leliana's father, nor her mother, were here to fulfill. It saddened and steeled me. I would give her the one thing she had never possessed. A life filled with love. Love without condition, without question, without ending. 

     Nan moved to Leliana's left, Fergus to my right, and they spoke in carefully memorized unison. "We who bear witness approve and affirm these vows in the sight of the Maker."

     The revered mother, a good woman, and a kind one, if stern and unrelenting, looked around the room. Only the five of us were present. There was no need for show, no need of pomp and grandeur. I had made but one request of Leliana; that this be simple, sweet, and pure. She had, more readily than I expected, agreed.

     "The vows spoken here are sacred." the mother dispensed with the lengthy introduction that a crowd seemed to require, smiling as she did so. "They shall not be sundered with anger, nor forsworn in infidelity. They shall not be forgotten and they shall not be broken. Before the witnesses present, and in the Maker's sight, do you so swear?"

     "We do." Leliana and I answered, and my bard blushed, turning her eyes away from mine with a demure innocence that made my heart soar. 

     "Salem Cousland," the mother turned her keen eyes to mine, "swear your vow."

     My hands trembled and Leliana squeezed them, offering her strength, her love, her desire. "On my name and blood I swear," my voice quavered and I made no effort to still it, "to love you. Through fire, through bloodshed, through war and turmoil. I will be your strength in weakness, your joy in sorrow, your sight in blindness. I will be slow to anger and swift to understanding. I will keep no record of wrongs. I offer my life to you, my heart and my soul and my sword. To you I swear my first oath of fealty; I am yours entirely."

     "Leliana of Val Royeaux," the mother spoke again, "swear your vow."

     Leliana's eyes locked with mine, a sweet surprise in them as she saw the scars in them completely, for this one, transcendant moment of joy, erased. 

     "On my name and blood I swear," she began with the traditional words, "to love you. Through injury and uncertainty, through unforgiving fate and cruel destiny. I will be your light when all is shadowed. I will be your music in sorrow's silence. I will be your calm in storm, the hands that heal you, the shoulders that bear your burdens. I offer my life to you, my secrets and my stories and my scars. To you I swear a love eternal; I am yours entirely."

     "So shall it be." the revered mother intoned. "In the Maker's sight, let this union be affirmed with an indelible symbol."

     I turned to Fergus and he handed me the signet ring that would never again be mine. Leliana had asked for no new adornment, nothing different. She insisted that to replace the ring I had given her in Denerim would break her heart. 

     "With this," the memorized words fell from my numb lips as I slid the ring, with great care, onto the third finger of her left hand, "I grant you my heart and my life."

     The revered mother turned to Leliana, who looked to Nan. My family's oldest and most beloved servant set a small object in Leliana's hand. 

     My bard placed the ring on my finger with a gentle, feather-light touch. I glanced down at it and felt my smile widening further. It was a simple silver band artfully worked into the form of a nightingale in flight, the same symbol that had been etched into the crossguard of my sword. It was more than a symbol. It was a truth given form...she would ever be the force behind my heart and the strength behind my blades. 

     "With this," Leliana spoke, a barely audible whisper filled with such belief that I nearly shattered, "I give you my forever."

     "With the witnessing of these vows, and the authority vested in me by the Divine and the Chant of Light, I pronounce this union blessed. Let these vows sworn be sealed with a kiss."

     I took Leliana's hands once more and pulled her closer to me, drowning in her eyes, losing myself in the feel of her skin. I wanted this moment to last forever, this single kiss that somehow felt different, new,  _imbued_ with  _more_ of everything we had shared than any kiss previous. I willed my heart and soul forward, breathing them over my lips in anticipation, want, and fervor. 

      _I love you._

     Her lips met mine with a gentle fire that spread to a conflagration in my veins. The frenetic passion that had held us together through the horrors of the Blight emerged again. I comprehended and accepted it; wrapped my arms around my lover in a promise that was understood between us, though not spoken. 

      _My life is yours. Your comfort and your shield. Your promise of peace made reality. Nothing but death will separate me from you. I am mine no more...and blissful._


	4. Fate Rears its Ugly Head

**Leliana**

    I bit my lip as I removed the last pin from my hair, letting the red tresses fall around my face in a tangled, curled, fiery halo. I reached out and touched the mirror with my fingertips, not recognizing the woman I saw in the reflection. She was beautiful as she had not been since Orlais; her eyes were shining with a hope brighter than I had ever seen. The lines around her eyes had faded; her skin glowed with health and vigor. 

     I looked... _she_ looked...so  _young._ She looked as though she had never seen the darkness in men's hearts, been baptized in blood, bathed in torture, consecrated by the shadows of mind and heart. It seemed as though her songs had never known sorrow's razor edge laid against them. There was a joy in her heart that no service to the Maker could ever bring. 

      _Would have ever thought that the silly, vain chit who traipsed behind Marjolaine through bright halls and gilded fantasies could have ever been content with the sparse simplicity that defines this land which I now call home? The quaint, archaic elegance that defines Salem and her household and her home is something that I crave and desire. Her name is mine now. We are truly become one._

     I turned away from the mirror and reached for the door, glancing back one last time to see if I had been taken in by an illusion. I saw my face and body in the glass, waiting for something to change, to alter, to morph back into the woman I knew. Nothing changed. 

      _She still stands there. Serene, blissful...all the more radiant for having passed through the fires of hell. How strange this new face is to me...but perhaps I am at last seeing myself through Salem's eyes. Eyes of love. Eyes of peace. Eyes of pure, utter contentment._

     I entered the room and laughed. Salem sat on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest, her ankles crossed, scarred hands linked in front of her legs, keeping her upright. Pure mischief glittered in her eyes as she looked at me from under a single up-quirked eyebrow. the proper tabard, breeches, and boots had been shed for comfortable, loose cotton garments and bare feet. 

     "The sight of your humble vassal brings you to laughter?" Salem asked, rising to her feet with a dancer's grace. 

     She stepped off of the bed with a warrior's elegance and performed an elaborate curtsey that looked utterly ridiculous. I laughed again as her hand grasped mine and she folded me into a loving embrace. I basked in her warmth, shivering as her hands roved over the silk of my dress. 

     "You are so beautiful, Lady Cousland." she whispered against my ear and I turned into her, hugging her close, resting my head against her breast and feeling the beat of the purest heart in Thedas. 

     My lips found her neck, tasting her skin, inhaling her scent. "Say it again." I breathed, desiring nothing more than to hear my new name spoken in her voice. 

     "As you say, Lady Cousland." she acquiesced and I shuddered in sheer delight as her lips pressed against mine. 

     My breath caught as her deft fingers caught the lacings of the dress, loosening them with a dexterous grace that belied her deadly skill. I had never seen any warrior so talented with a sword, not even the famed duelists and chevaliers of the Orlesian courts. Not even Loghain Mac Tir, the Hero of River Dain, had been able to stand against my lover in combat...and she had been grievously injured then. 

      _Yet her hands are gentleness itself. Her touch can be feather-light and tender. Even callused and scarred, her hands impart strength and calm in equal measure. I have taken many hands in my lifetime, been guided, shaped, and molded by them, but none of the hands I have taken have been so...beautiful._

     "You have eclipsed my sweetest dreams." I removed her hands from around my waist, wanting her to, not just hear my words, but see them. "Thank you, Salem. Thank you...for this."

     "Is it what you wanted?" she asked, raising her eyebrow again, eyes filled with concern and caring. "I know it was considerably different from...from what you were accustomed to."

     "I have no hunger for that life any longer." I spoke the truth, finding that the admission of it still surprised me. "You have presented me on so many occasions with a stark, frightening, simplistic beauty. Raw and powerful, earth-shatteringly  _honest_. The trappings of my former life were a mask and a disguise...a poor one at that. They were meant to conceal the truth, to hide the flaws that minds less-wise perceive as beauty. I bear your name and I want your life. Something simple and wholesome and good."

     "So you did not mind the quiet? The simplicity?" she sought reassurance, even though she knew I was completely hers. 

     "It was perfect." I promised her, tangling my fingers in her hair and savoring the silk against my skin. "Everything. The words, the silence, your lips against mine. It seemed almost holy. As though we were together in the Maker's presence and bound by a god himself."

     Salem stepped back, drinking me in with her battle-scarred azure eyes. "You are holy to me." she whispered, then her brow creased as she gazed at me and she stepped forward, cupping my cheek with her hand. "Are you well, dear heart?" she asked. "You look pale."

     "I am a little fatigued." I confessed. "And I've had a slight headache since the morning."

     She frowned and I could not help but smile at her show of concern. We had seen each other beaten bloody, ill, and near death on numerous occasions. To complain about the benign malady of a simple headache seemed foreign and out of place. I brushed my fingers across the line of her frown until it lightened. I continued playfully batting at her lips until she smiled, and began removing the confining laces of the dress. 

     "Lie down with me." she urged. "We can simply be together and rest. We have time."

     Nothing brought a smile to my face so quickly as the hope with which Salem said those words. We had time...something we had too often thought there was not enough of in the world for us...or that ours would run out too soon under torturous circumstances. Only now was it the truth, a truth that we could hold on to and enjoy. 

     My dress fell away and Salem lifted me in her surprisingly strong arms, carrying me to the bed, setting me down with great care and placing a feather light kiss against my forehead. I sighed in complete bliss as she joined me and pulled the covers over us, wrapping me in her arms. 

      _Let life move slowly,_ I prayed,  _so that I might cherish every moment such as this._

     I relaxed into Salem's arms, letting time slip by beside the woman I loved. The one woman who had ever, truly loved me. I closed my eyes, attempting to let the headache slip away, but it intensified instead. I winced, gasping as a sharp slice of pain shredded across my temples. Instinctively, Salem pulled me tighter against her. 

     "Leliana," her voice held complete concern, "Leliana, what is it? What's wrong, dear heart?"

     "I...I don't know." I bit off the edges of my words, squeezing my eyelids shut as the barrage between my temples became more and more painful. 

     I bit my lip as fire burned behind my eyes, clinging to Salem as her skilled fingers massaged my temples. It felt comforting, but did nothing to alleviate the agony. I began to breathe faster as pressure built inside my head; harsher as it seemed that I could not get enough air. 

     "Leliana, breathe." I heard Salem's voice somewhere in the distance, panic-laced calm. "Dear heart, open your eyes. Look at me."

     I tried, but my eyes would not open. White light burst behind my closed lids and shapes that did not exist took form and meaning and a life of their own. I had known this before, lived this before, and I did not...

      _No, not **this,**_ a ragged cry tore from my throat as I began hearing a voice not meant for mortal ears. _Not this **again! Maker, please...NO!**_


	5. Watching Her Suffer

**Salem**

     Leliana moaned, a piteous, anguished sound that ripped through my skin and into her heart. She lifted her hands upwards, tangling her fingers in her hair, holding her head as her body began to jerk with pain. I saw tears beading on her eyelashes and gathered her close in my arms, torn apart by the pained whimpers that fell from her lips. 

     "No." Leliana whispered, but they were not conscious words. "No...please...not...again...not...not like  _this_..."

     I looked to the door, debating on calling for someone, but we were in the most isolated room sof the house. No one would be close enough to hear my shouts, and I could not leave her. I did not know what was wrong, what had happened, or why she had suddenly been stricken by anguish, but I did know that she needed me, and that I would  _never_ leave her side again. 

     The slight trembling and infrequent jerks of her body turned into full spasms. I relinquished her and pushed myself up, worried at the unprecedented tension in her jaw. I could see the pulse in her neck beating through the skin, a thrumming tattoo of rushing blood and agony. Her spasms became convulsions and I reached out, pressing down on her shoulders, trying to keep her still so that she did not harm herself. As my hands settled on her skin she cried out, a wail of torment that ceased when I removed my hands. 

      _What in hell is happening? Does my touch cause her pain?_ I wondered, biting my lip untli I tasted blood against my tongue.  _Or is this the way it as meant to be? In denying her destiny, burning the letter from the Divine, has she brought more pain upon herself? Maker's blood, am **I** the cause of this...this...this **nightmare?**_

     "Come back to me." I begged, afraid now to touch her. "Please come back to me."

     "This," she spoke again, addressing someone... _something?_...that I could not see, "this is not...as it should be. Where...where am I?"

     "You are here." I answered, praying that she could hear, that she could clutch onto my voice as I had to hers when the taint in my blood had drowned me in dark dreaming. "You are here, with me. I will not leave you, Leliana. I promise it, I  _swear_. Hear my voice and follow me back. Please, dear-heart, hear me.  _Hear! Me!"_

     Her eyes flashed open and my throat tightened at the sight. The deep blue of her eyes had been eclipsed by a silver sheen that made her look blind. Her eyes made her look as though she were burning alive from the inside. Horrified, I watched as her nose began to bleed profusely, streams of it running over her lips and down her chin. I pulled a pillow from its linen casing, using the material to staunch the blood flow. 

     " _Salem!"_ she shrieked my name, but she did not see me, did not hear me, did not feel my presence near, " _don't go! **Please,** love! Don't go!"_  **  
**

     "I am right here." I dared to touch her arm with just my fingertips and the chill of her skin frightened me as much as her low, keening sob of pain. "I am not going to leave you, Leliana.  _Come back."_

     Her sob ended on a harsh gasp, her chest heaved, and her breathing went shallow. Her eyes fell closed and her hands, weak and limp, lost their death grip on her temples. Her lips trembled and moved in voiceless gibberish, as though she were in a fever delerium.

     "Leliana." I spoke her name, straining to keep my voice calm, not to lose myself in panic. "Leliana, please wake up."

     Her eyelids fluttered open and the blue in her eyes had dimmed. It seemed as though they had been...scorched. Her eyes looked almost blackened, but at the center of the pupil I saw what looked like a glowing ember. 

      _Maker's breath, what has happened?_

     "S...Salem?" her voice rasped, sounding raw and hoarse, as if she had been screaming, or inhaling smoke. 

     "Yes. I'm here." I assured her, longing to touch, but afraid of causing her further pain. I felt so bewildered and confused that I wanted to tear out my hair. 

     "Dear Maker, please,  _no_." she groaned, sat up, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, huddling into herself, shaking. 

     I pulled the quilt off of the bed and draped it around her shivering body, allowing myself to embrace her once there was a protective layer between her skin and mine. I would not let my touch cause her physical pain. 

      _I do not want to hurt you. I have hurt so many things...injured so many...killed even more. I never want to count you among them. I am meant to protect you; not cause you harm. Say something, Leliana. Tell me anything._

     "Dear heart?" I asked, tentative, fearing knowledge and ignorance in equal measure. 

     "Are...are you going to leave me?" she asked, her voice dull and listless, unfeeling, un-alive. 

     "No." I clutched her tighter to me. "No, my angel, my life, my love, my heartbeat... _no_." Words I had always considered too soft spilled from my lips, but now I was allowed to speak them, and I wanted to. "A thousand hells of no. I will never leave you, Leliana." I promised, knowing that abandonment was her greatest fear, and the reason she had left my side before. " _Never_." _  
_

     "Then why?" her scorched eyes turned to my scarred ones and she looked...betrayed. "Why was I not there?"

     "I do not know." I got on my knees and took her hands in mine, wincing at the sight of dried blood on her face. "Leliana, I do not know. One moment you were hear, you were well, and the next...your eyes were afire, your skin cold as ice. I screamed and you could not hear me. What...what happened to you, dear heart?"

     "Ancient gods." Leliana breathed, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. Tears filled her eyes and flowed unmitigated down her cheeks, mingling with the blood smeared on her skin. "This cannot be happening. Not again."

     "What _did_ happen?" I pleaded for understanding, my heart thundering in my chest, hating her pallor, hating her tears and not...not knowing anything.

     "A vision." her had reached out and cupped my cheek, her thumb running along the scar stamped in my skin. "I...I saw you, Salem. You were in the dark, beneath the earth, suspended over a great chasm. Your eyes were distant...your hands clinging to two pillars on the chasm's either side. They were black like obsidian," she shuddered and I drew the blanket tighter around her body, "but they had this unholy sheen it was...it was... _evil_."

     _Another vision? So she spoke truly after all. Not that I disbelieved but...this is irrefutable proof now, right before my eyes. She **is** the Maker's chosen vessel, the voice with which he speaks. I see now why her destiny led to the Chantry, why the Divine sent her that letter. She is not meant to be with me. I was meant to die; she meant to give her life into the Maker's service. All is not well within the world. We have misaligned Fate and thus it will not be kind. _

     "Leli..."

     "You...you had to reach for one of them," she whispered, "you could not grasp both, for the chasm was growing, and you would be ripped in half. To take one or the other was to free something of great evil upon the land; to destroy them both was to condemn yourself to...Salem...Salem...I cannot bear another vision of your death, I _can not!"_

     "Hush, love." I pulled her into my arms. "I am going nowhere. _Nothing_ is going to happen to me. My being here is proof."

     "I _know_ you, Salem!" she sobbed and I tucked her head against my chest, holding her as she grieved. "You would _die_ before you let evil touch this land. I have _seen it **before!"**_

     "I'm still here." I promised, loosening my grip before I bruised her with the intensity of my embrace. "I am still _here_."

     "But I...I was not there." her voice grew distant and the slight warmth that had entered her body fled. "Salem, I was not with you. There were others...strangers...faces without names...and I was not among them. My love, what will happen? I would _never_ leave your side, not after all we have endured. I do not..." her voice cracked. "I do not understand."

     "Neither do I." I caressed her hair. "But I am here, and you are here, and that is all that matters and all that will continue to matter. I will not let you go."

     "Heavens, hells, and angels." Leliana groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "My head feels as though it's been split open."

     I kissed her temple and pulled her alongside me as I lay down. "Was it this bad for you the first time?" I asked, holding her close to me so that she did not get chilled.

     "Worse." she mumbled. "Last time, my ears bled."

     My heart ached in my chest as I began to realize a grievous truth. _I have witnessed a god's re-emergence. For whatever reason, Leliana is the voice of the Maker in this Age...Andraste reborn. And I...I am a human woman whose blood is tainted, whose life is shortened. Her destiny must outstrip stars and encompass galaxies. How...how are we to manage this impossible union between us?_

_I am human, and she is divine. Those tales always end in pain...and yet..._

_...I have killed a god before._


	6. Ferocity, Loyalty, and Love

**Leliana**

    I awoke with a start, the scent of blood thick in my nostrils. I groaned as the pounding in my temples increased, though it had softened from the rapacious torture that it had been while I was locked in the grip of the vision. I pried my eyes open, both thankful and saddened as I saw the moon through the window. I was thankful because the soft light did not anger my aching head; saddened because of the reason that caused me to sleep through my day of greatest joy. 

     I turned my head and hissed as pain speared through the strained muscles in my neck. Immediately, I felt a callused hand wrap around the back of my neck and begin to massage the knotted muscles in my neck. I closed my eyes and attempted not to think of the vision, not to do anything but feel her touch. But, after a moment, the hand moved away, and Salem laced her strong arm around my shoulders, lifting me into a sitting position and moving her body behind mine to support me. 

     "Here," she whispered in my ear, "drink this."

     I felt a cup touch my lips and I lifted a trembling hand to aid myself, smiling as I felt the texture of Salem's skin beneath mine. 

      _Her scars..._ I thought as I tasted the bitterness of elfroot and the sweetness of honey slip down my throat, easing the soreness and soon to provide some relief from the pain of the headache... _I will never forget the feel of them. I will know you always, even if you are not there..._

     I choked as an unexpected wave of emotion struck, tearing a sob from my body. I coughed and spluttered, gasping for air. Salem's wide, gentle hand soothed up and down my back, making me feel cherished and comforted. Salem set the cup aside, gathering me in her arms and cradling me close as I continued to weep. 

     "I am...so sorry." I managed to speak through my tears, enduring a sinking feeling in my heart. 

      _I had thought...just the one. Just the one vision, and that would be the end of it. More visions? What can this mean? Why did I see Salem suspended once again between fate and death? I was not with her. **Why was I not with her!?**_

     "You need not apologize." I heard a kind smile in her voice. "I understand, Leliana."

      _How can she claim to understand this when I, to whom it is happening, have not the barest comprehension? How can she remain so immeasurably calm in the face of this? I am terrified...I am shaking apart in my soul, disturbed and disquieted in my spirit. I am afraid as I have not been since I was forced into the dungeons of Val Royeaux._

"What can I do for you?" she asked, facing me now, her hands framing my face as though she were trying to take my pain into her own body. "What do you need from me."

     "Never leave me." I whispered, my voice a ghost of ancient fears brought out of the grave. "Just...never leave me."

     "I promise." she said in her signature easy manner. 

     The ease with which she made promises did not trouble me, most of the time. But now, in the face of  _this,_ I felt a fire in my heart as the embers of anger began to kindle. It seemed flippant and dismissive, and it hurt me. 

     "How can you promise such things?" I demanded, my voice like ice. "You have always believed in me, Salem, even before you had evidence of my truths. Everything in my first vision unfolded as I saw it would, save your death. How can you make such promises  _when you know_ what I have seen!? I foresaw your death and it  _nearly_ came to pass! Now I am bearing witness to such a thing again and you are...you are not taking this _seriously_!"

     "I do not fling promises with ease, Leliana." Salem assured me, her voice holding that eerie quiescence it had carried in the Frostback mountains when I had stood on the brink of sanity. "I am a Cousland. My word is my soul, my sacred trust. If you see me standing at the edge of eternity once more; if you see me standing anywhere without you, then that fate is something I will defy with all that is in me, or you are not there for a far greater reason."

      _Maker's blood._ My breath caught and I faltered in my indignation.  _Is it possible...possible that I might walk into eternity before Salem? I have never considered it...not even as the remotest possibility. Because it is always her...she is the one who bleeds, the one who is injured, the one who suffers. How did I consider her mortality more tenuous than my own?_

     "I...I want to believe you." I confessed. "But I am afraid, Salem. How many times did you defy fate? How many times did you push and stretch your life as far as it would go? At this close of this next journey, whatever it may be, there might not be a witch with a devious endgame in mind. What if you are called...to pay the ultimate price?"

     Salem flinched when I spoke of Morrigan, and I could sense that my words had hurt her. I hated that, but...my words were justified. I had known those who chated fate. Their luck had always run out. Always. 

     "I give you my word, Leliana." Salem took my hands in hers, covering me in her strength, in her hope, in her love. "I  _vow_ to you. I will  _not_ die."

     "You cannot promise that." I wept, remembering a not-so-long ago conversatio with Zevran. 

     We had spoken of our closeness with death, our intimate knowledge ot it. We had spoken of eluding it and fighting for life. He had told me something of Salem, something that had resonated, a figurative, not literal fact. Still, it heartened me. 

      _Salem is immortal..._ _yet she is not. I have seen her die. I have felt her spirit leave her body. I have seen her covered in blood, barely breathing; bone protruding from her skin. I have held her flesh open so that another's hand could mend injuries that would kill a lesser person._

     "Yes, I can." she pressed her cheek to mine so that we were breathing the same air. "Remember who I am, dear heart. Remember what I have done. Remember that, and  _believe_ as you never have before.  _Believe_ in me,  _please_."

     I buried my face in the hollow between her neck and shoulders, feeling the silk-smooth lines of the deep crimson scarring that snaked over most of her upper body. She felt like hearth and home, like sunsets and wine and all things that imparted comfort. 

     "I love you...so much that I feel it will be my undoing." I whispered against her skin, before pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. 

      _I love these scars,_ I thought.  _Scars made when she bathed in the blood of a god...a god that she brought down with hand and sword. How can I listen to her voice and doubt her words? I stood with her at the top of Fort Drakon; I watched a mortal woman do what **none** have ever done before._  

     "Then come undone." Salem whispered, the tone of her voice changing to something dusky, haunting, sweet, and seductive. "Let me make you come undone." she requested, running her hands across my shoulders, down my arms, back up my sides, resting at last along the sides of my bare breasts. "Please."

     My throat tightened as I looked upon this woman that knew no equal. This woman who had brought down a god, who had taken me to wife, who had cared for me and believed in me, and who offered to bring me pleasure and carry my pain so that I might face the morrow with a lighter heart. 

     "Yes." I breathed, nodding. 

     The heat of her body flowed over me and her lips caught mine. She spoke to me in a wordless, universal language. Her arms wrapped around me, a cushion, a fortress, a promise. Her fingers played over my body, the rough calluses on them striking my nerves in a way that no lover ever had before. 

     Marjolaine had spoken this language with sensual surety, an unnerving confidence meant to make her partner submissive and quiet. To be pleased, yet unsure. Sated, yet uncertain. She had balanced me on a razor's edge and been pleased when I fell, when I questioned, when I hated myself for failing her. She had been cruel to me, and I had thought it was love. 

     With Salem, it was different. In love as in everything, my warden could be nothing but  _honest_. Her hands wrote truths into my blood, her lips breathed sparks against my own, a living flame that consumed and created. She had never used this language to deceive; to subvert; to gain a tactical advantage. She had never placed her own pleasure above mine, never called upon me to serve her, or forced me to bend to her will.

     She touched me with love, reverence, and awe... _for she knows **no other way** in which to communicate._ 

     I lay back and my warden blanketed my body with her own, her lips still against mine, searching for my trust, for my heart, for my  _belief_. I moaned, soft, against her lips and shivered as her fingertips traced down my side, touching my scars with a tenderness unmatched. 

     Her lips left mine; left me hungry, gasping, desperate as she moved lower, covering my body with soft, lingering kisses. Her teeth grazed my breasts and I asped, arching against her confident, competent hands. The ache between my temples faded as warmth filtered into my body, easing the knots along my neck, calming the worry that gnawed at my heart. 

     "Salem." I whispered her name and it was a prayer, a wish, a dream. "Salem, I love you."

     "My goddess." she breathed, lightly tracing her fingernails along the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh. "My angel." she worked her lips down my neck and they drifted lower, to my breasts. "My lover." She kissed her way back up and captured my lips with her own, pouring her passion, dedication, and devotion into me. 

     She pulled away and I felt empty, though her hand rested between my legs, drifing over the hair there, tempting, tantalizing...torturing. Salem was so tender, so gentle, but I needed more from her, wanted more from her. I wanted tenderness and torrential passion, and I knew that she could blend them, if she so chose. 

     I met Salem's eyes, shivering as I saw a primal fire sparking there. Her lips spread in a predator's smile. 

     "My  _bride."_

     Simultaneously, her teeth caught my neck and she entered me, forceful, insistent, demanding. I cried out as my body ignited; all rational thought left my mind as she scissored her teeth around the shall of my ear, her hand moving inside me with a relentless, feral,  _savage_ ferocity. Every thrust made my muscles tighten, my nerves catch fire, and I began to pant and moan as pressure and pleasure built deep within my core. 

     Salem curled her fingers up, continuting to push into me and I cried out at the changed sensation. My vision blurred and my legs began to tremble. Salem pressed her forehead to mine, mingling our hair, our sweat, our breath, our very lives.

     "I. Am.  _Here._ " she growled, her voice harsh yet somehow reassuring. " _With **you.** **Feel** me.  **See** me. **Love** me."_ 

      _As if..._ my thoughts gasped... _I could...do anything...else..._

     Then her lips were on mine and her thoughts were in mine and she was inside me and she  _was_ me and we were  _one._ Her thumb pushed up against the throbbing bundle of nerves at the zenith of my core and I cried out, bucking my hips upward to meet the thrust of her hand, taking her deeper into me, begging her with my body and with primal, wordless sounds of pleasure. 

     "Come for me, dear heart." Salem urged and her words set me aflame, catapulting my body over the edge and my cry of release filled the room as my body spasmed around her fingers. 

     I lunged upwards, wrapping my arms around Salem. My fingernails carved half-moons into her skin but she cradled me close, controlling my fall, sending aftershocks of pleasure through me until I was nothing but a shuddering, thoughtless, breathless body beneath her. 

     Only after the decrescendo did I feel the tears that dripped from her face onto mine. I looked into her shining, scarred eyes, and she smiled. Slow, she pulled herself from me, licking my essence from her fingers, then kissing me, gentle and passionate. I moaned as I tasted myself on her lips, as I realized that she had made love to me on our wedding night. That, in spite of everything that had gone wrong... _something_ had at last gone right. And the reason for it rested above me, looking down on me with all good things shining in her eyes. 

     "I  _love_ you." she lay down beside me and pulled my body against hers, fierce, loyal, and...

      _She is mine. Forever. Mine._


	7. Two Weeks Later

**Salem**

     The sun began to set over the fields of Highever and a warm, mid-spring wind drifted through my hair. I closed my eyes and let the land speak to me, hearing darker undercurrents than had been there recently. It troubled me, but I sought to put it from my mind, to cling to the fragile thread of happiness I possessed. Though I attempted not to show it, Leliana's vision troubled me. We had fought so hard to be together, to be allowed to live in peace with one another, and yet it seemed that our life would be torn asunder in a way that we could not comprehend or fight against. I attempted to put that from my mind, and focus on the letter I had received from the Anderfells.

     _The First Warden in Weisshaupt sent wardens to Amaranthine as soon as he received word from Alistair that the territory now belonged to the Grey. Even though I am the warden commander of this land, the First Warden acted without my knowledge or approval. I do not feel that this bodes well, and yet..._ I sighed. _I do not know why a consistent worry haunts my heart but it is there; a wingbeat on the edge of sight, a shadow just beyond perception. All is not well. The land is uneasy...as am I._

     I drummed my fingertips on the stone of the windowsill and felt Leliana move from behind me to my side, covering my anxious hand with her own.

     "You seem so contemplative." she whispered. "Dark thoughts again, my love? So soon?"

     I turned into her arms and let her hold me. "I am not alone in them." I replied, knowing that her thoughts were joined with mine, locked in bleak places.

     "It would seem to be so." she bit her lip and gazed up at me. "Your eyes are screaming again...and I cannot hear them, not as I could before. Why do they cry, Salem? Please tell me."

     I wanted to feel anger at my transparency, but all that filled me was warmth and love and the calm assurance that she _knew_ me as none other did. Still, it felt too soon for such burdens to arise, for such dark thoughts to dominate my mind once again. All I had asked for was a time of peace, but it seemed I could not be spared even that. The hands that turned the world had no care for the warrior, no respect for the heart, and yet we were forced to do as they bade us.

     "I do not rightly know." I confessed. "I sense a vast disquiet. The wind does not laugh, the rain does not gently fall. Even in this time of peace, shoulders are bunched, muscles are tensed, eyes are not met. I feel as though I have woken from a dream of the archdemon, even though I know it lies vanquished."

     "It does seem as though a tide is turning, and not for the better." Leliana nodded her assent and we withdrew from each other's embrace, giving into our true natures.

     _Those who will part from what is bliss for them so that they might take up a burden that no one else is strong enough to shoulder. Only now there is no definition to our anxieties. Simply a cryptic vision, and a warden's nagging distrust._

     A knock rang at the door and I felt a tension between my shoulders that had not been there in some time. My body reacted to the sound as it had when it sensed darkspawn along the road. Every muscle readied itself for battle, even though no enemy stood before me. However, somewhere, deep inside my intuition, I knew.

     _Whatever it is that is coming to pass...it will begin soon._

     "Lady Cousland," a young servant stepped into the room, breathless, ruddy-cheeked from running, "an emissary is here to see you. She says it is quite urgent."

     "Inform her that I shall come soon." I replied, but the young man shook his head.

     "Not you, milady." he inclined his head towards Leliana. "The...other...Lady Cousland."

     "What on earth?" Leliana asked.

     There were none, save our small circle of friends, who knew that Leliana had come to Highever with me. And none of them would know that she had chosen to take my name for her own. Whoever it was that had come to seek her out knew more than I wished them to know.

     _This does not bode well._

     The servant turned his wild eyes from Leliana to me and back again. "Please, do hurry, milady. She does not seem the sort to be trifled with."

     "Did she give you her name?" I asked, drawing on my noble's indignation at having a stranger pass edicts on lands that were not their own.

     "No, milady." the servant swallowed, hard. "She said that you would know her when you saw her."

     "Tell her we shall meet with her soon." I sent him off with a wave and the door slammed with the fearful alacrity of his exit.

     Leliana turned to me; her eyes were wide and screaming, filling me with fury that _any living thing_ might put that expression in her gaze. "Salem...how..."

     "I do not know." I growled, brushing past her and walking to the bureau that stood against the room's far wall.

     I opened the doors and what I sought stood there, gleaming in the firelight. My swords, the blades that had killed a god, weapons I had hoped not to have to lift for a long, distant time. I lifted them and slipped the sheathes across my back, feeling a familiar weight settle on my body and soul. I would not be taken from again. I would let no one steal the life that I had _fought_ and nearly _died_ to be able to live.

     "Love," Leliana seemed even more ill at ease, "do you believe that is necessary?"

     "Someone possesses the gall to dictate to you in _my_ home." I answered, feeling sparks strike in my spirit, kindling a flame. "I am many things, Leliana, and a jealous woman _is_ one of them. This summons will not go unanswered, but it will be on my terms."

     "As you say." she calmed, seeing the riotous fire leaping in my eyes, the death in the gleaming like the teeth of a starving wolf.

     We strode down the stairs, Leliana behind me. She carried no obvious weapons, but I knew of the blades she consistently wore on her body. My bard was never without defense. Not with the life she had lived before me...and with me. As I entered the foyer, I saw a group of three. Two women, one man. Their soot colored armor seemed to drink in the light, but the golden eye and rays of the sun emblazoned on their chestplates nearly blinded me with its brightness. The woman in the center, their leader, I assumed, turned at the sound of our entry.

     Her hair was the color of night itself, tied back severely, spilling down her back in an ebony waterfall, defining the harsh angles of her face. Cinnamon colored eyes shown out against dusky skin under austere brows, keen with intelligence, alight with a fervor I could not place...though I had seen it somewhere...before...

     "At last you arrive." she spoke, her accent vaguely reminiscent of Zevran's, but it sounded harsher. Less defined.

     _Nevarran...if I were forced to assume...with a tinge of everywhere else in Thedas._

     I stopped short of them, seeing no other weapons on their bodies but their swords. If this came to blows, I had no fear of ranged weaponry, no need to endanger my unarmored body.

     "You invade my home," I spoke, sharpening my words until they flew from my lips like blades, "you terrify my servants, you summon my wife as though you control her, and now you have the _gall_ to exhibit impatience before me?"

     "I am not concerned with you, Grey Warden." she turned her eyes to Leliana. "I am here for _her_. You are superfluous, but if you insist on standing in my way, I cannot promise that you will remain so."

     Leliana's fingers wrapped around my arm and she gazed at me with dread. There were none who would speak to me, or her, in this manner. We were the heroes of our country. We had defeated the Blight. Whoever possessed this level of insouciance as it came to our reputations must have been powerful indeed.

     "And what right and rank have you?" I demanded, losing my patience with this arrogant woman, eager, for the first time, to spill blood in anger.

     _No one will lay their hands on Leliana._ I sword. _Not unless she wishes it. She is no man's slave, no man's puppet, and I. Will. Defend. Her. Life...at any cost. Any cost._

     A haughty smile quirked the stranger's lips and my hands began to tremble with rage.

     "I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine Beatrix." she announced. "A summons was sent and went unanswered. I am here to remedy that grievous error and you, warden," she threatened me, "have no authority over me."


	8. My Lover Defiant

**Leliana**

     My fingers curled tighter around Salem's arm, feeling the solid strength resting in her muscles. She did not tremble, did not shake as I did; she remained firm and unmoved. Were it not for the frantic fire in her eyes, I would have believed her completely unafraid.

     _But it is not so. There is nothing but death in her eyes. What we feared, the lingering knowledge in the back of our minds, has come to pass...and I am afraid. I am afraid that this beautiful life that we have begun to build will fall before us...will fly from our grasp as peace and joy seems to be whenever we chance upon claiming it._

     "Stand aside, warden." the Right Hand warned, an edge in her tone. Impatience. Anger.

     _And pride. Insufferable pride. I remember that same tone dwelling in Marjolaine's voice. That smug condescension that drove me **mad.**_

     "Do not think to command me." Salem spoke, her voice so calm, almost amused. "I've no care for titles, even that of the Divine herself. The fact that hers gives yours credence is as insignificant to me as the ant beneath my boot."

     _How is it that she can show no visible anger? For a woman who love so deeply, who can speak with such passion that gods are swayed, Salem has a firmer rein on her emotions than any other I have met._

     "I will not warn you again." Cassandra growled, a gleam in her light brown, almost amber, eyes. "I am a slayer of dragons. My swords have brought foul blood-mages to grievous ruin. My name and blades are feared throughout the land. This is _not_ a contest you can win."

     The Right Hand of the Divine raised her chin in a proud stance, waiting, as a noblewoman would, for her rival to speak of their accomplishments, to begin a duel with words. I had seen this game played one too many times, and knew that Salem _could_ fight in this manner, and succeed, but I feared, given the prize Cassandra Pentaghast had come for...that Salem would not choose her words as weapons.

     In a flash beyond speed, Salem stepped away from me and drew her swords. Before Cassandra could draw her own blade, Salem slipped her foot behind Cassandra's armored boot and crashed the pommel of her sword against the woman's shoulder. Cassandra tipped off balance and Salem struck her again, in the chest, while pulling against the leg she had snared and toppling the Divine's right hand in a crash of plate metal against stone.

     The Right Hand's male companion drew his blade and Salem looked up, holding one blade at Cassandra's throat with unerring accuracy, swinging her offhand blade upwards until it met the man's neck. He held his sword aloft, frozen, unsure of whether or not to follow through with his strike.  

     "This is sedition!" Cassandra shouted. "To attack without provocation an emissary of the Divine is a felony offense throughout Thedas!"

     _Salem,_ my heart began to pound in my chest, _what are you doing? I am not worth...not worth your life, not worth your future. Maker, what am I to do? I **do not** want to go with them. I **do not** want to surrender my happiness...but I do not want your life to be forfeit, my love. I love you too much to see you surrender what you have fought an unholy battle to preserve! _

     "Test me further!" Salem threatened. "Speak again!" Cassandra lifted an eyebrow and Salem's blade pressed further against her throat. " _Speak. Again._ "

      I winced. The last man she had commanded to silence had disobeyed...and paid for it with the near severing of his tongue.

     "Arlessa, please." the Right Hand's female companion spoke to Salem.

     I pulled my eyes away from the sight of Salem to look at the woman who might tempt my warden to further violence. She looked to be six or seven years my senior...older than Marjolaine. She possessed a fair complexion, though she was not as pale as Salem. Her ash-blonde hair hung to her shoulders in natural waves, and her green eyes were filled with apprehension, yet also with calm.

     "I need no entreaties from _you_." Cassandra hissed and Salem's blade pressed deeper, drawing a bead of blood from the tender flesh of her neck.

     "Cassandra, do not be so rash." the woman advised. "And you should remember that, in a time of need, even the Right Hand of the Divine is not exempt from the Grey Warden's right of conscription. Ren, put away your sword. This need not come to violence. Arlessa Cousland, let us speak peaceably, I implore you."

     "Do not think to placate me with pretty speeches, to curb my actions by reminding me of my rank." Salem said, though she lowered her offhand blade as the man called Ren sheathed his sword.

     "I have no wish to see blood shed." she replied. "Cassandra was remiss in her demands, and acted poorly."

     "Kathyra!" Cassandra snapped.

     Salem reacted swiftly, kicking the Right Hand in the jaw and crossing both blades across the woman's neck.

     "You are a fucking _fool_." Salem growled. " _Why_ would you persist in the idiocy of attempting to silence the sole voice of reason I have heard." She lifted her eyes to Kathyra. "Speak."

     "Divine Beatrix is not a woman to be trifled with, and the Chantry not an enemy to anger." Kathyra spoke, opening her hands away from her body in a show of trust. "But," she looked to me, "we are not here to take you as a prisoner, Lady Nightingale."

     "I am Leliana Cousland." I claimed, speaking for the first time, moving to Salem's side in a show of support for my warden's actions. "The nightingale you speak of is long dead."

     Kathyra lowered her head in a respectful nod. "My apologies, Lady Cousland." she amended, and I appreciated her diplomacy, though I knew it was simply a more roundabout way to gain what they had come for.

     _Maker, what am I to do?_ My thoughts race. _Where are you in all of this? Is this the reason that in my vision I was not at Salem's side? Am I meant to go with them, to meet the Divine, to be torn from the one thing in my life that has been beautiful and true and **good?** Make my way clear. Please. Let me understand._

     "What do you want from me?" I asked Kathyra, seeing as she seemed to be the one emissary who would give answers instead of flinging orders.

     "Nothing." Kathyra answered. "It is the Divine herself who has called for you, and she is under no compulsion to reveal her reasons to those such as us. Not even the Right Hand knows why you have been summoned. I pray you believe me, Lady Cousland, for I would give you the full truth, if it were mine to offer."

     _She speaks as Salem speaks. She possesses that same, eerie calm. She has not attempted to bargain for Cassandra's life, which is still in grave peril. Kathyra is either confident that we will hear her out, or she truly has no care for the Right Hand's life._

     "You have given me no reason to believe you." I shook my head. "You have invaded my home, threatened my wife, and spurred the drawing of swords. I disregarded the Divine's summons because I had no wish to answer it. A show of force will do nothing to induce me to accompany you."

     "You have no choice!" Cassandra shouted, lifting one of her legs and striking out, catching the back of Salem's knee and sending my warden to the ground.

     Salem rolled to her feet as Cassandra rose to hers and the Right Hand's blade flashed in the light, crashing down towards Salem. My warden deflected the strike and went on the offensive, driving the shorter woman against the wall and pinning her there. Cassandra's cheeks flushed red with fury.

     "You will never take the power of choice from her!" Salem hissed and, even in the horror of the entire situation, my heart burned hot with love. "No one has that right! _No one!_ "

     "Ren, stand _down._ " I turned to see Kathyra with her arm stretched across Ren's chest. "This is not our battle."

     "I serve the voice of the Maker." Cassandra spat. "Force comprehension through your brutish Ferelden skull! You _will bend_ to the will of those higher than you!"

     The death in Salem's eyes _shrieked_ and I watched Cassandra recoil from that terrible, terrible gaze. " _I. Killed. A. **God.** " _Salem stressed every word. "I walked _out of **Heaven.** I bow to **no one.** " _

     _This will not end well,_ my heart fell as I felt clarity wrap around me like a blanket of frost. _Salem is one breath away from killing the Right Hand of the Divine, one of Thedas' most powerful women. Were that to happen, there would be no protection for us, no sanctuary in any city. Even Alistair would be forced to make us surrender or risk a war that Ferelden could not win. We would be on the run, without refuge, without rest...constantly in fear and we have **lived** that before. _

_Salem **deserves** a better life than that. I have the power to give it to her. I have the power to give her peace...and she will not love me for it. _

     "She belongs to us now, warden." Cassandra spoke, low, menacing.

     I moved before I thought, wrapping my hand around Salem's arm before she caused irreparable damage.

     "I am my own." I glared into Cassandra's eyes with such disdain that she flinched.

     _Salem, my love, forgive me._

     I sighed, reached into my chest, and pulled my heart from it. "Give me time to gather my belongings, please. I will accompany you to Val Royeaux."


	9. The Quietly Breaking Heart

**Salem**

    I felt cold; the same chill that had pierced me through in the Frostback Mountains when Leliana left me, the same frigidity that had overcome my soul in Howe's dungeons, overwhelmed me now. My heart felt frostbitten and blistered and all that anger, all that pain flashed through my eyes as I glared at the Right Hand of the Divine, hating the look of triumph that spread across her features. It would be so easy for my hand to add more pressure to the blade, so easy for me to take her life and end this conflict...to erase the words I did not want to believe Leliana had spoken. 

     "Salem." Leliana's fingers pressed around my arm, insistent, reminding me that I could not, through force and bloodshed, undo her words. "Let her go."

     I stepped back, acceding to the wishes of my wife, pulling my swords away. I refused to sheathe them, however. I would not abide Cassandra's arrogance in my home. She had spoken of her supposed skill with a blade, yet I had defeated her with little effort. 

      _You call yourself a slayer of dragons?_ My thoughts mocked her.  _A feller of blood mages? How can you stand before **me** and proclaim your prowess, then fail to prove it, yet expect me to entrust the  **one I love** into hands unsuited to a sword? Leliana, why are you doing this? Why are you going with them? Have I failed you in some way? Have I failed you, my dearest love?_ 

     "Guards!" I called and four men-at-arms in Cousland livery appeared. "Please escort the Divine's emissaries to the dining hall and have a meal prepared for them. I am quite certain that the journey here from Val Royeaux has exhausted them."

     "We do not have time for such pleasantries." Cassandra shoved herself away from the wall where I had pinned her, a haughy smirk quirking her lips. 

     Faster than a blink, I held my blade to her throat again. "How far do you think you can push me, you rabid dog? You come to take what is dearest to me in all the world and expect me to grovel at your heels like a whipped puppy? But for Leliana's intervention and your lieutenant's intercession, you  _would_ _be **dead**_. Accept my hospitality or face my hostility, you have no other option."

     Cassandra's lips tightened and her eyes burned at me. She had opened her mouth to speak when Kathyra, her diplomatic lieutenant, stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

     "Cassandra, enough. We have what we came for, and that hinges on the whim of a woman who wants your blood. She defeated you with ease, and her swords are still very present. Do not tempt her to use them again."

     The Divine's Right Hand made a disgusted noise and put her blade away, following my guards, her shoulders tensed and bristling. Though I knew her pride would not permit her to admit it, I  _had_ shaken her confidence in herself and in her rank. She was accustomed to that title being intimidation enough, for the truly devout fell prostrate when the Divine but whispered. I had always believed but never devoted myself to the Chantry...I had also walked through the valley of the shadow and turned my back on paradise. In all my life, I feared but one thing...

      _...the thing which is soon to transpire._ I turned my eyes to Leliana and my heart felt as though a burning brand had been laid against it.  _Why, Leliana?_ I asked again.  _Have I...have I done something wrong? Have I made you wish to leave me?_ _  
_

"Salem." Leliana whispered, calling me back to myself, her warm hands closing around my icy ones, easing the blades from my grasp. She sheathed them. She denied my protection. "Come with me, love."

     Powerless to do anything else, knowing that I would soon feel my soul wither and die, I followed her up the stairs and into our rooms. She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, burying her head in her hands, tangling her hair between her fingers. I said nothing, leaning against the wall, at war with my heart, at war with my anger, at war with the Maker himself. I had given so much... _too_ much. More than any hero or any legend had ever been asked to give. 

      _How can you take her from me!? I have done **nothing** but  **good** in your service! Is it true? Am I truly meant to be dead? Is this loss of her the penance I must pay for continuing to live!? But you...you sent my mother to tell me...to tell me that you  **forgave** me! **I do not understand!**_

     "Salem?" Leliana lifted her head from my hands and stared at me. "Have you nothing to say?" 

     "There are no words for this." I turned from her, resting my aching head against the pleasant chill of the stone walls. "Even could I find words, they would make no difference, would they? You have already made your decision."

     "Do you think this is a decision I desired to make?" she asked, but her question was pure, with no hint of accusation. 

      _Do I? She has changed from the lay sister I met in Lothering. She has seen the darker hearts of this world's men and women. She has known the excruciating beauty of love. She believes in the god that I serve...the one without a name...the one whom the Chantry abuses for its own ends. She has no love of that Chantry any longer, no illusions of their supposed pure intent. She is leaving me for another reason...a reason that I must not have realized._

     "No." I answered, giving her the truth, feeling my anger rush out as grief threatened to kill me. "No, I do not think you wished to make it."

     "Salem, look at me, please." she begged. 

     "No." I refused, closing my eyes and turning further into the wall like a wounded animal seeking refuge from the wind and rain. "I would not have you see my eyes this way."

     "Are you angry?" I felt her hand on my shoulder, her intoxicating nearness, a love so strong and so pained that I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around her and take her anguish into my own soul. 

     And yet...I could not. I could not deliver her from this pain, for my life was its cause. Had I not survived, had I not struck that bargain with Morrigan, I would never have caused Leliana's heart to be torn. She would have been able to continue in her service to the Maker, with the memory of having been loved. She would not now have to leave me, were I not here to hold her. 

     "I am. But not with you." I assured her. 

     "You truly are maddening." Leliana whispered, in her voice lay the ache of tears. "I would have you scream at me...or berate me...or anything. Anything but hold yourself away. Please, Salem, I love you, I...I love you."

     "Then why?" I did as she asked and turned my eyes to her, watching her flinch and take an involuntary step backwards. 

      _Yes, dear heart. Fear me. Fear me for within the iced-over shell of my body I am burning alive...and in my sorrow and my rage I will scorch the world._

     "I would have killed them." I pushed myself off of the wall and tore the mask of love from Leliana's eyes, letting her see within me the seething fury that would forego the dictates of conscience and damn good judgement. "I would have slaughtered and buried them all, Leliana. So that you would not be taken, I would have killed again."

     "And brought upon yourself a far darker wrath than any other has ever incurred." Leliana's voice trembled, but she remained before me, unwavering. "I have lived a life on the run, Salem: constantly watchful, ever-wary. It is  _exhausting_ and everything in the world pales as you fight each day simply to survive. Even love pales. I would  _not_ be willing to lose  _you_."

     "We would be together." I argued. 

     "Yes." she agreed, but tears shone in her eyes. "But you would become something else entirely. You would fade away, turning yourself once more from my lover into my shield. I love you too much, Salem. I love you too much to condemn you to that frame of mind yet again. I loved the woman who would be my protector alone, whose body endured wounds and torture and blindness for my sake. But your open heart, your brilliant smile, the laughter that falls from you easier and more often...I love her more, Salem." My wife stepped forward and took my hands in hers. "I love  _her_   _ **more.** " _ ** _  
_**

My heart screamed in my chest as flames consumed it and withered me to ash. I could bring no argument to bear in the face of her words. In shame, I withdrew my hands, clenched them into fists, and turned away from her. I needed her more than words could convey, more than I could say or want or wish. She embodied my salvation and my purpose and I...I did not want to be parted from her.

     "I would give anything to have you stay at my side." I whispered, trembling as tears struck my eyes with the force of a battering ram. "I would sever my ties to title and lands, forsake this kingdom, and abandon my duty and word for you."

     "I know." her arms wrapped around me and the scent of Andraste's Grace washed over me in a sickening wave of comfort. "But I cannot run again, Salem. I  _will_ not, for I am done with running."

     "That is my doing." I realized, understanding a bitter, bitter truth. 

      _Every time she wished to run, I drew her back...showing her the beauty of standing against pain, against uncertainty, against whatever would come. Showing her that **love** is strong enough to endure any fear...any fear...I gave her the heart that would not yield, and now I must suffer for that gift._ 

     "Salem, no." Leliana urged, a despairing note in her voice as she watched me take the blame onto my shoulders and attempt to accept the burden of her loss. "Please, love, no. Do not do this." 

     "If I must lose you," I entreated, cupping her cheek with my palm, "let me believe that I am the one at fault."

     "But you are not..."

     "I  _love_ you." I stressed, tangling my hands in her hair and pressing my forehead against hers. "I love you enough to kill for you. Enough to die for you. Enough to blame myself and in so doing forgive  _you_. Accept this, Leliana. Accept this."

     "It is too great a gift." she shook her head, vehement, resisting the words that broke my heart to speak and hers to hear. 

     "It is all that I have to give." I told her, pulling away from her but keeping her hand in mine, unwilling to relinquish her too soon. 

     "Salem, please." she pleaded, but stopped as she did not understand, or perhaps know, what she wished to ask of me. 

     Forgiveness had already been given. I had already been dealt the wound that would not heal. It seemed best that I convince myself that it came from my hand. It felt best that I make myself my own enemy, so that she need never wear that face in my thoughts and in my dreams. I felt it best to keep my love of her pure and perfect and not stain it with this matter...this matter in which we both were powerless. 

     "Gather your things, Leliana." I squeezed the hand I held. "I am here. With you."

     "Always?" she asked, seeking to know that I still loved her; that I would not fault her for this decision; that she had me to return to, no matter what fate might dictate. 

      _You need never wonder that, my lover, my heart, my wife. Your heart will never be without a home again, for so long as I draw breath. We have no say and no power in what is happening now, but at least we have mastery of our hearts if not our fates. Mine will be yours until time itself no longer draws breath._

"As you say, dear heart."


	10. Watching Her Die

**Leliana**

     _What am I doing?_

My hands trembled as I folded clothes and placed them in my well-worn traveling satchel. It was a worn, patched, mess of a thing, but it had been what I carried through the Blight, and I needed the security of it with me now. I lifted my small box of specialized weapons, my hands shaking so badly that I dropped it. I knelt down on the floor and lifted it and paused, my breath shuddering out as I felt the impossible weight of what I had agreed to do crash onto my shoulders. 

      _I have to leave my **home.** I have to leave the one I  **love**...I have to. Never before have I had so much to lose...and yet I cannot do as Salem asks. I cannot rebel. I cannot flee. I can do nothing but go forward because I...I will not  **lose** her while she stands in front of me._  

     I rose to my feet and tucked the box away in my satchel, my hands pausing as I looked down at a dark blue shirt. I had thrown it into the satchel unthinking...but now I lifted it out, seeing the dark stain across the front. 

      _I remember this,_ I bit my lip,  _from the Deep Roads. We had found a cavern, filled with darkspawn. During the fight, I was knocked into an underground lake. The water was **frigid** , but we could not light a fire, lest we attract more enemies. I was freezing, so cold that I was in pain, but our packs had been destroyed in the fight with Branka, all we had were our weapons and our clothes. Salem had been cut...but she carried me to a dark corner of the cavern, took off my clothes, dressed me in her own garments and held me, naked on the frigid, filthy ground and shared her heat until I warmed again. When we resupplied I...I asked for this shirt...because it is what love is. _

     I lifted the shirt from the bag, buried my face in it, and sobbed. Salem's warm, strong arms wrapped around me, but she said nothing. 

     _I **love** you,_ her words rang in my ears,  _enough to blame myself and, in so doing, forgive you._

     My tears eased as she held me and Salem withdrew, taking the shirt from my hands and folding it, substituting her strength for mine as she alway shad. When it was done, she took my shoulders in her hands, massaging the knots from them, speaking with her hands, imparting comfort and love and reassurance when she could not trust herself to speak. 

     "I have everything." I whispered, dreading the truth of those words, wishing that I could prolong these moments...anything...anything to slow time and make this not real. 

     "Not yet." Salem wrapped her arms around me and kissed my hair. "Come with me."

     Her hand slid down my arm and her fingers brushed over my hidden wrist sheath before moving further, aligning my small palm with her large one, and lacing our fingers together. I followed her from our room, to the main hall, and up another flight of stairs. My heart caught in my throat as we ascended. I had never been in this part of Cousland Hall. Neither Fergus nor Salem set foot on these stairs. Only the staff came and went, and then only those recently hired, not those who had been present when Howe had sacked Highever. 

      _This...this must be where Rendon Howe committed his most grievous sins. This is where he slaughtered Salem's nephew and sister-in-law. Fergus has declared this part of the house permanently closed, and Salem has not dared set foot in here. Why does she come here now? Why bring me here **now?**_

     Salem's hand tightened its grip, asking me for strength that I did not have to give to her. I watched as she opened the door that led to Bryce and Eleanor's private chambers. There were still dark stains on the stone floors, spatter markings on the wall, the faint scent of blood and death and battle. This was a place never meant to see the sun; a place that would have been burned clean and destroyed, if such a thing were possible. 

     Salem stood motionless for a moment, her chest heaving with labored breaths. I could see beads of sweat dotting her forehead and her eyes were burning with old anguish. I opened my mouth to speak, to dissuade, but she shook her head. 

     "Wait here." she whispered, letting go of my hand, understanding that I could scarcely hold myself together, even long enough to give her a modicum of strength. 

     Helpless, I watched my lover walk deep into her nightmares. I wanted to be at her side, but I felt so close to shattering that I could do nothing to help her. I watched as the ghosts of Salem's past stepped from the stone, the wraiths of the first human blood her swords had drawn. In my mind's eye, I could see their gnashing teeth, their phantom vengeance, enacted every night as Salem tossed, turned, wept and cried out...cried out for mercy. 

      _But I know her dreams. She does not scream for mercy to be shown her. She screams at herself to show mercy she knows that she does not. She was born to hold a sword...she was born to protect...and it was this moment, this place, this point in history that began to forge her. Through what she perceived as her failure. I am standing in the birthplace of that mantle of guilt that has never left her shoulders._

 Salem emerged from the doorway of the room she had entered, white-faced and wild eyed, her bloodless lips quivering in wordless terror. I knew this reaction; had felt it in my own body when I entered Howe's dungeons in Denerim. My legs had collapsed beneath me, I had fallen and faltered, and Salem had lifted me once more, then subjected herself to torture. But she did not fall here. She walked to me, holding something in her hand. I walked to her, but she moved me out of the door way.

     Heaving a heavy sigh, she crossed the threshold, slamming the door behind her, bolting it before leaning her head against it and shuddering. She tucked whatever she had retrieved behind her, concealing it from view. I reached out and pulled her from the door, brushing the cold sheen of sweat from her brow. 

      _Heavens, hells, and angels..._ the un-fallen tears in her eyes broke my heart.  _She is bleeding...from no wound that can be mended with human hands...or by magic. This is...why will she not **speak!?**...this is going to kill her. I am...I am going to kill her._  

     "Salem..."

     "I am fine." she interrupted with that  _frustrating_ lie. "That was...difficult...is all."

      _Difficult._ I frowned.  _As though you can conceal from me the fact that your heart has been torn into innumerable pieces. I know that I am the source of those tears...but your eyes still shine with love. Your hands remain gentle. You are an angel, Salem Cousland...you could not have been born of earth and flesh and blood. I refuse to believe it. I **refuse.**_

She reached behind her for what she had retrieved and held it out to me. "This belonged to my mother." she prefaced the gift. "Eleanor Cousland, upon a time, was the finest archer in Ferelden, a battle maiden unequaled. I would...I would see it in hands that will use it well. I know that...I know that mother would want you to have it."

     I reached out and took the bow that she held in her hands, running my fingers across the intricate layers of wood and horn and sinew. The weapon Salem had place dinto my hands was different from the bows I had held before. The frame was deeply curved, the weapon lighter than the others I had owned, but more dense, more compact. The wood had been engraved with elegant scrollwork; I could see the rampant mabari etched into it; a representation of a strength and a family that was somehow more than human. 

     "Salem, I..."

     "I don't trust her." my lover spoke, gripping my shoulder with insistent touch. "That Right Hand, or Cassandra, or Lady Pentaghast, or...that  _bitch_ uses a sword like an untrained  _child._ I know your bow shattered at Fort Drakon...and though...though I know you wished never to hold a weapon again, I fear that you must. I want it to be  _this_ bow, Leliana. I would...I would have some part of me with you. Some part of me keeping you safe." _  
_

_I will never leave you,_ more of her promises echoed in my mind and my hands began to shake.  _No. She would not leave me...she never has. As always, it is I who will walk away from her._

     "Thank you." I whispered, soft. 

     The hands on my shoulders pulled me close and Salem's lips crashed on mine with the force of a thousand ocean waves. I felt it again as we kissed; the frenetic haste that had marked our time before she had vanquished the archdemon. The fury. The passion. The fear that Salem alone could transmute into love. 

     My angel, my love, and my heart broke the kiss, burying her head in my shoulder. "I love you, Leliana Cousland." she murmured. 

     I wrapped my arms around her as my world of beauty unraveled at the seams, as the shadows of future and fate spread from the walls and threatened to consume us both. I did not know how I could stand in the face of this, how I could look every dream I had ever known in the eye and...and leave it behind. Always, before, in love I had been wronged. Now, it was I who did wrong...and I could not deny it. 

     "Please, Salem, please..." a single tear ran down my cheek, "...please try to forgive me."

     "I already have." I assured me, straightening and bracing those beautiful, impossibly strong, broad shoulders. 

     "Will you forgive yourself?" I wondered, feeling as though I saw Salem covered in blood; dying from a thousand mortal wounds, unable to be healed or helped. 

     "In time." she nodded, reassuring me not in the slightest. 

     She wrapped her arm around my waist and we descended the stairs, back to our rooms. I slung my quiver and my new bow across my back. Salem took my satchel and held it tout to me. There was nothing more we could do. We, who had conquered demons and dragons and a tainted god...we could not stop time. We could not dissuade the inevitable, or deny the highest power in the land. 

     And Salem...my Salem...accepted it as I never would. I saw it in her eyes, the calm resignation; the same unshakeable strength that had accepted her death with little more than a sigh and tears shed for lost dreams. But I could not reconcile this within my mind. I could not fathom that the Maker I had so loved would tear me out of her arms...would condemn her to a fate this cruel. To be alone. 

      _She has done nothing wrong,_ I prayed as we descended the stairs and made our way to the dining hall.  _She has done **nothing** wrong. This is so cruel...why am I being forced into such a decision? I am plunging knives into her skin and she is covering my hand with hers and telling me that it is all right; that she is all right; that all will be well. _ ** _But I know I am killing her!_**

     We entered the dining hall and Cassandra rose from the table, tossing back her waterfall of ebon hair. The other two, Ren and Kathyra, remained seated, eating, but it was obvious that the Right Hand thought herself above my warden's hospitality. 

     "Are you quite ready?" the dark-haired woman asked, impatient and arrogant and all things not Salem...all things I despised. 

     "I am coming with you of my own volition." I stepped in front of Salem as my warden's hands clenched into fists, eager to draw her swords again. "You would do well to remember my former vocation, Lady Pentaghast. You've only the promise of my integrity to keep you safe while you slumber this night. If I decide, at anymoment, to go against my word, you will not see the morning."

     The Right Hand threw her head back and laughed. It was not humor, but mockery. Anger coiled in the pit of my stomach and I threw caution aside. I unslung the bow Salem had given me, nocked an arrow against the string and pulled back, letting the arrow fly across the hall and embed itself in the ornamental upper half of Cassandra's pauldron. The arrow punched through the metal and drove through up to the fletching. I was quick to cover my surprise, for it was not the power of the arrow that had punctured the metal, but the force of the bow. 

      _Eleanor Cousland must have been quite the archer indeed. The power in this bow is...unmatched._ _  
_

Cassandra's laugher ceased and she gazed at the arrow, stunned. Ren's eyes lit with anger, but I noticed Kathyra quirk an amused brow in my direction.

     "Had I wanted to bury that in your flesh, I would not have missed." I made a show of unstringing the bow and setting it back in place across my back. "Right Hand or no, do not mock me nor think me intimidated by your title, name, or purported skill."

     "This is  _your_ doing." Cassandra growled at Salem and my warden shrugged her shoulders, showing a mask to the woman. 

      _Indifference. Imperviousness. Insouciance._

     "Get out of my house." Salem ordered, and the Cousland guards drew their blades to enforce the edict. "Now."

     I expected more resistance and posturing, more playing of the Game, but Cassandra and Ren stalked from the room. Kathyra rose a little slower and moved to stand beside me. She looked at Salem and flinched from the power in my warden's unnatural eyes. 

     "I do apologize, Arlessa." she spoke. "Please find it in your heart..."

     "You've done nothing to anger me." Salem interrupted, tight-lipped. "Do not change my mind. Take your prize and leave. Now."

     Kathyra offered a curt bow and departed. Salem escorted me to the front gate of Cousland Hall...the place that had become my home. A place filled with love and comfort and precious memories. A place I might never see again. 

     My heart splintered and I looked at Salem, memorizing her features... _one last time._ Her eyes roved over me and her hands lifted to my face, tracing my cheekbones, the bridge of my nose, the curve of my lips, etching me inside of her mind as I did her. 

     "I  _love_ you." she said, and I knew she would speak no further words. 

     I laid my hand over her heart. "I  _will_ come back to you." I promised, swearing a vow as I never had before: as a Cousland, a name incapable of breaking its word. 

     Salem leaned down and sealed my oath with a kiss. There were no tears in her eyes, but her hads were cold and her eyes were aflame with pain. I closed my eyes and turned from her, walking to Cassandra and the two Seekers, showing my back to the woman I loved. I had to move first, for I knew that Salem would never leave me, would never turn away and walk on. 

     It was for me to do. My crime to commit against love and promise. 

      _And it is...it is breaking me._


	11. Another Brand of Death

**Salem**

    I bled. Inside my soul, I bled. I bled as I watched Leliana walk away...again. This time, it would be different. this time I could not go to her, beg her, plead with her to come back to me. this time the Maker himself had come to claim her. A silent god without physical form had chosen her. A silent god..who spoke only to Leliana. A silent god who...who did not  _care_ that my heart was breaking. I wanted to hurt this god. I wanted to end his silence...make him scream in the agony I now experienced. 

     I clenched my jaw until it ached, holding myself still so that I did not run for my wife and upset the balance of the world with my blades. I forced myself to watch as Leliana mounted her horse and rode out of the gates with the Right Hand of the Divine and the Seekers of the Chantry. Every few moments, her head would turn and my mind would leap into the abyss of hope, praying for the movement of spurs against the horse's flank, the pull of the reins, a full gallop back to our home...back into my arms. 

      _I would kill those three without thought,_ I clenched and unclenched my fists, remembering my disappointing battle with the Right Hand.  _For all her pride, in spite of her boasts, I could flay her, armor and all. She **trained** with a blade, but I was born with one in hand. As was Leliana. Both of us were intended to take life. _

_And I was intended to die._

     The small band of four rode out of my sight and I turned, slamming the door of Cousland Hall behind me, racing through the great hall into one of the turrets that opened out onto the city wall. My breath burned in my chest as I ran up the stairs two at a time, slamming through the door and out onto the walls. I rushed to the vantage point above the gates that led out of the city. The four horses and riders were galloping now, speeding away from the city, and tearing my heart in half. 

    I wanted to cry out, to lift my voice, but I had no more strength to give. I had spent it all, returning to the chambers of my nightmares in order to give my mother's bow to Leliana. I had spent it all, restraining my murderous hand from the flesh and blood of Cassandra Pentaghast. I had spent it all, forcing the tears in my eyes away until they turned into blades that carved into my very soul. 

     I let those tears fall now. My vision blurred and I rested my hands on the stone, relieving the pressure on my aching right leg. Regardless of the relief, the muscles began to spasm and I hissed at the sudden onslaught of pain and discomfort. I kept my eyes fixed on the riders, struggling to stand, until Leliana disappeared into the dark, away from the moonlight. Then I allowed my weakness to overtake me, collapsing as my right leg gave out. The tremors wracking the weak muscles that would never heal properly grew more intense. I shook with the pain of body and soul, unable to discern which was greater and...and not caring. 

     I wanted this pain to kill me. I wanted it to kill me as the archdemon should have. It would have been better for me if I  _had_ died that day. Yes, Leliana would have grieved, but she had promised me. She had  _promised._

      _She promised to sing again. To dance again. To remember me with fondness and move **forward** with her life. and then the opportunity came...to defy fate. To laugh in the face of destiny. To be what I took vows against...I was  **selfish**...and I was  **happy.** But now...Now. I. Am.  **Damned.**_

     I curled into myself as an icy wind blew in from the north. My mouth opened in a wordless scream as my leg spasmed of its own volition. Fingers of fire wrapped around my heart and scorched it to ash. The cold of not-yet-vanquished winter seeped into my veins as I lay on the frigid stone, and I did not care. I did not care if I became ill. I did not care if I fell into nightmares and never returned. I wanted to die...drawing breath had become too painful as the irrefutable knowledge of Leliana's absence became a weight around my neck that I was not strong enough to carry. 

      _I am no longer whole without her_ , I remembered the words I had spoken to Fergus on these very walls on the night before my wedding. 

     They had been so gut-wrenchingly true. My entire body had gone numb. The sole part of me that felt any warmth was the finger that carried Leliana's ring. The slender metal scorched my hand where it rested, the only part of her that I carried with me that did not have a sharpened edge, waiting to slice me open in the dark. 

     Her ring, her promise, was the sole thing keeping me from rising to my feet and walking off of the wall...plummeting to the stone streets below and re-breaking the bones that should never have mended, taking into the Maker's embrace; where I should have been from the first. 

     Instead, I closed my eyes and shivered in the chill wind.  _End my suffering,_ I begged whatever god would listen.  _Let me dream of blood. Let me dream of torture. Let me dream of death and let me never wake...for my heart is gone and I cannot live without it._

* * *

     "Stoke the fire. Quickly." a muffled voice, masculine. 

     "Blankets." another voice, harsh and worried...a woman. "Maker's blood. She's cold as ice."

     Groggy, feeling as though I had walked three-hundred miles through snow, I opened my eyes. I rested on something soft and warm, not the cold wall where I had fallen into the oblivion of unanswered prayer. 

     "Should I fetch the healer?" a young man...a servant?

     "Maker, no." the woman answered. "No need to make a bad thing worse."

     I began shivering as awareness returned to my body, as pain radiated from my right leg up into my lower back. Agony compounded into anguish as the shivers became more violent. 

     "Salem?" a weathered hand stroked through my hair. Nan's kind eyes shone down at me. "Salem, child, are you all right."

     I could not answer her through the chattering of my teeth. Nan drew blankets tighter around me and placed the back of her hand against my forehead. Her expression turned to one of concerned relief, a look that I had stamped on Wynne's features more than once during the Blight. 

     "No fever." she sounded relieved. "I am going to make you some tea and pray that you did not catch a chill."

     Nan rose and Fergus took her place before, letting me know who had given the order to stoke the fire. He signaled the guards and servants with a quick wave of his hand and they exited, leaving us alone. I locked my jaw in place and fought to keep my body still, but the shivers would not stop. 

     "I know." Fergus broke the silence and his hand slipped under the heavy blankets and furs and found my hand, squeezing it in hopes to impart comfort. "The guards made a full report."

     My heart caught in my throat and I nodded, content to remain silent. If I spoke, it would lock this cruel reality into place. It would make Leliana's absence from my life even more real and unable to be borne. I could not confide in anyone, could not cement this reality...not even to one as dear to me as my brother. 

     "I found you unconscious on the wall, nearly frozen." Fergus continued. "Salem...you were dressed in thin linen with nothing to cover your feet. What were you doing?"

      _Wishing I was dead._

     "Grieving." I replied, my voice hoarse, raw, tremoring...but I found comfort in the pain. 

     Pain was familiar. I knew it as an old friend. It had given me strength, given me reason...the brief happiness I had shared with Leliana...how wrong I was to become accustomed to it. I could take shelter in this agony as I always had before. I could use it to hide behind and push and cut my way through the world. 

     "I am so sorry, sister." Fergus spoke, his words falling like stones on dead earth. "I cannot imagine how much this wounds you."

      _I know you **can** , brother. You lost the one you loved...lost her to death...as I should have been lost.  **I SHOULD BE DEAD!**_

     I attempted to move, but Fergus placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back down. "Rest, Salem. You're still shivering and you need to warm yourself. I have news."

      _News? What now, my Maker? Some new torture? Some new demand for my flesh and blood?_

     "News of what." I gasped out, eager for a distraction of the pins and needles ripping through the soles of my feet as feeling returned. 

     "I received a messenger bird not a candlemark ago; before the guards informed me of what transpired. Amaranthine has been attacked by darkspawn."

     At that, I threw off the blankets and rose to my feet, ignoring the shrieking protest from my stinging, weakened right leg. 

     "Salem, what in hell are you doing?" Fergus asked as I lifted my swords from where he had laid them. 

     "Leaving for Amaranthine." I replied, terse. 

     "No." my brother blocked my way as I started for the door. "Salem, you were half-dead when I found you. Traveling to Amaranthine is out of the question. You'll catch cold and take ill."

     "Amaranthine is in my charge." I placed a shaking hand on his shoulder. "You would do no less for Highever."

     He pursed his lips, but he could not argue. He had forsaken his duty to King Cailan in order to re-take our ancestral lands and home back from Arl Howe. 

     "Salem, you're not well." he attacked from another front, determined to convince me to stay. 

     "And I never will be again. Let me go, Fergus." I felt the weight of my most hated mask settle over my face. 

      _Warden Commander. Leader. Warrior. Protector._

     Leliana had stripped those masks away, giving me the freedom and ability to remove them in her presence, to heal the brokenness that lay behind them. That would not happen now. She was gone. I was alone. And there were new dangers that required my gifts. Gifts of flesh. Gifts of bone. Gifts of blood. 

     "At least stay until morning. Just to make certain that you're all right." Fergus begged me to see sense. "We have always been susceptible to fevers, Salem, the both of us. If you fall ill while traveling..."

     "Damn my health." I shoved past him and moved to the door. 

     "Salem, do you  _want_ to end your life!?" my brother demanded, rounding on me and glaring at me with my mother's accusatory eyes. 

     "And if I am!" I shouted. "What of it!?"

 


	12. Further Introductions and Aggressions

**Leliana**

    Cassandra drew her horse down from a gallop as the moon crested in the sky. The bitter wind that had plagued us since we rode out of Cousland Hall was alleviated slightly within the confines of the small valley we had ridden into. She turned to the rest of us, looking grim. 

     "Ren, start a fire. We will camp here tonight and I will take first watch, in case the Cousland bitch thinks to send soldiers."

     My shoulders tightened into shrieking knots and I dismounted my horse. "I'll thank you not to insult my wife." I said, perhaps a bit too loud, as I un-cinched the saddle and pulled it off of my shuddering, abused mount. "And you need not bother with setting a watch. Salem will send no one after us. Her word has been given, as has mine."

     The Right Hand narrowed her cinnamon eyes at me. "I have seen enough  _words_ betrayed that yours mean little to me. It will be as I have said."

     I pursed my lips and turned, attempting to gentle my hands, not wanting the innocent horse to suffer from my anger at a human. I muttered curses in Orlesian under my breath, stiffening when a warm hand rested on my shoulder. I turned, too quickly, to see Kathyra's worried eyes. 

     "Do not let her get under your skin." she advised, but her smile seemed forced. "Cassandra is an...acquired taste."

     I spat in the Right Hand's direction as I removed a brush from my saddlebags and began to care for my horse. "I have suffered many a bitterness in my life." I spoke to the only one of the three who had shown any courtesy, "I believe I have earned the right to  _choose_ what now accosts me...or, at least, I believed. It is not as though I can  _truly_ defy the Divine."

     The scent of smoke filled the air as Ren kindled a small fire that did little to alleviate the chill. I heard Cassandra's muttering and the shriek of metal as she extricated the arrow that I had punched through her pauldron. Kathyra grinned again, this time offering an honest smile. 

     "I have never seen Cassandra so easily handled before." she confided to me, as though we were old friends, as though her delegation had  _not_ stripped me away from my home and torn me from my warden's arms. "Her pride has been  _sorely_ wounded, twice this night." Kathyra ran a worried hand through her hair. "I am afraid she will make for a dismal traveling companion for the rest of the journey."

     "Because she was so genial from the first." I sniped, grief threatening to crush me as I heard an echo of Salem's dark humor in my words.

     I slipped a rope from my saddlebags and staked it to the ground, tying the other end to my horse's halter, leaving him free to graze and wander. I sat down, far from the fire that Ren and Cassandra huddled around. the cloak I wore would do little to protect me from the chill of the wind, but I did not care. I would rather submit to the mercilessness of the elements than find comfort near the glacier that was the Divine's Right Hand. 

     Kathyra settled beside me and extended a warm cloak, black, with the all-seeing eye of the Chantry embroidered on it in gold. 

     "Is there anything I can do, Lady Cousland?" she asked. 

     "Let me go back to my home and my wife." I muttered, and in her eyes I saw a deep pain...a pain that, somehow, seemed so very much like my own. Perhaps enough alike that I could...that I could be kind to her. "Forgive me." I shook my head. "Can you...can you simply tell me why?" I asked for an explanation. "Tell me why I am so important to the Divine that she sends her Right Hand to bring me to her."

     Kathyra pulled her knees in close and rested an elbow on them, idly biting the edge of a fingernail. "I was shocked when the order came down." she confessed. "I suggested sending another missive, should the last one not have reached you, for it was sent in the midst of the Blight. However, Cassandra overruled me, and the Divine agreed. Thus we are here, with Cassandra flinging her title around. Most often, she is content to be numbered among the Seekers, but being forced to wait in your foyer grated on her sense of propriety."

     I sighed and nodded. "Divine Beatrix's first missive did reach me. At Redcliffe...before the archdemon overran Denerim." I stared into the fire, remembering the darkness of those days, the fear and anguish that ate at my heart in the waking hours and devoured it as night ell and sleep brought no rest. 

     "So it was as I thought." Kathyra mused. "You did ignore the summons. Might I impose, and ask the question of why?"

     I lifted my eyebrows and turned my head, signaling with my body that the answer was  _obvious_ , should she but perform her duties and  _seek_ it out. Once again, I looked into her eyes and saw the deep well of pain dwelling within them, making me curious. 

     "I understand." Kathyra bit her lip, as though wondering how to cover her unintended offense. "I apologize, Lady Cousland. I never intended to impugn..."

     "Think nothing of it." I waved my hand, grateful that she, at least, sought to remedy her mistakes. "What I do not understand is why Salem could not accompany us. I never even asked, I suppose..." hope lit a candle in my heart, which Kathyra extinguished with a glance. 

     "Her Holiness considers your warden an abomination." she gave me the truth, blunt, unapologetic...much in Salem's manner. "She would never allow Salem Cousland to step foot in the Holy Palace in Val Royeaux. After all...for a Grey Warden to kill an archdemon and live is...appalling, to  _some_."

     Her eyes darted to Cassandra, and I understood. Somehow, Salem had interpreted all of this and knew...knew that she could not go with me, and thus did not ask, to spare  _me_ the pain of hearing the denial. However, Kathyra's inflection made it seem as though...as though she did not think such things of my wife. And I wondered why she did not, as she wore the livery of the Order of Seekers. 

      _All of this has not settled in yet,_ I thought.  _My mind has not yet fully grasped that I am leaving my home, that I am in the company of strangers who believe that I squandered my love and life on something akin to a demon. Yes, Salem's life is an unnatural one, bought with a dark ritual and consecrated with something deeper than blood magic. But she is **good**...she has done  **nothing** wrong. The Divine would so easily cast the title of "abomination" upon a woman she does not know, so readily judge a story that she has not fully heard and did not witness. I am uneasy in my soul. Maker, why will you not speak, and tell me what is happening?_  

     "i see." I spoke, weighing my words with care, wishing to gauge the character of the only one of three who seemed to wish to speak to me. "And what are your thoughts on the matter, Seeker Kathyra?"

     Kathyra rustled through her packs and withdrew a few pouches of herbs, and unwrapped her mortar and pestle. She poured careful measurements of the herbs into the mortar and I caught the particular scent of wolfsbane. Kathyra added a few drops of a sweet smelling oil, and began to grind the mixture together. 

     "I am a physician." she answered, equally careful. "All of life is sacred to me by that profession, and love is sacred to me as an individual. I believe that no one should die without need...especially not by a cruel twist of  _magic_."

     She hissed out the last word and I knew that, at some point in this woman's life, magic had touched her. I did not know if it had left a scar on her body, but it most assuredly had left a wound in her mind. How much it had healed...it was too soon to tell. 

     Kathyra finished her work and scraped the pounded herbs and oil into a square of raw linen. "Join me by the fire." she offered. "I am quite certain that Cassandra will ignore you and Ren...well, he can speak only in glares and gestures. He's mute."

     "Mute?" I asked, thinking that I should begin to learn more of those I traveled with, in order to keep myself safe. 

     Kathyra's eyes darkened. "Blood magic." she growled. "A twisted mage cut out his tongue for some dark ritual. Cassandra saved his life and he has been loyal to her ever since. He is her silent protector, and, in some cases, her enforcer, for lack of a better title."

     "And you?" I inquired, wondering if she acted as more than a physician. She carried a blade with well-practiced ease, and her hands had a warrior's calluses. 

     Kathyra looked off into the distance. "I am surprised you have not already discovered my purpose for yourself." she smiled. "I am Cassandra's conscience."

      _It chills me to think that the Divine's Right Hand requires a companion who acts as such a thing...but Cassandra is sorely in need of one._ I remembered the Seeker's brusque manner, haughty bearing, and demanding presence.  _And who better than this woman...who is, on the surface, kindness itself._

     "Very well." I acquiesced and rose to my feet, settlign once more by the fire. 

     Kathyra placed the small bundle of herbs in Cassandra's hand. "For your jaw." she pressed her fingertips to the black and blue stain on the Right Hand's dark skin. "It should take down the swelling and numb the pain."

     Cassandra made a disgusted noise and let the poultice fall from her hand. Kathyra closed her eyes and drew in a deep, calming breath. She knelt down, lifted the bundle of herbs, and pressed the poultice against Cassandra's jaw. 

     "Stop being stubborn, Cass." she spoke, tone soft, as though calming an angry dog. "You'll not impress anyone here with that sort of bravado. If you don't use this, the muscles in your jaw will stiffen and you'll be unable to speak a word without being in utter agony. Eating will be a trial. Do us all a favor and do not let your pride hold the reins here."

     Cassandra growled, but she covered the pouch of herbs with her own hand, lifting it and pressing it to the bruise my lover had stamped in her skin. Kathyra nodded, seeming pleased that Cassandra offered no further resistance. 

      _Do us all a favor and do not let your pride hold the reins here_...Kathyra's words repeated in my mind and I lost myself in memories of saying much the same things to Salem...stitching her skin together, holding her trembling body after a nightmare, sitting vigil at her side as I prayed for her to wake. My heart beat painfully in my chest, reminding me of my losses, distracting me from the sound of metal locking about my wrists. 

     I glanced up as Ren finished locking the shackles in place. "What," I glared at Cassandra, "is the meaning of this? You claimed I was not your prisoner!"

     "And you reminded me that the sole measure protecting my life was  _your_ integrity." the Right Hand glowered. "I'll not dangle from such a slim thread."

     I rose from the fire, struggling for balance, trying to control the trembling in my body. I had not been in chains since... _not since the dungeons of Val Royeaux...Salem... **Salem**...I need you, love. I  **need** you.  **Maker, WHY!?**_

     I stalked away and sat down beside my horse as my back spasmed and my legs refused to hold me. I nudged the sleeve of my shirt up with my nose, thankful that Ren had locked my hands in front of me, and not behind. I could reach the sheath around my wrist, and end this idiocy. With my teeth, I liberated my lockpicks from the small pockets in the leather. Gripping them with my lips, I began to work the lock on the shackles. 

      _You will **learn,** you arrogant bitch,_ I threatened Cassandra in my thoughts.  _No lock in Thedas can hold me. You **will** trust my word, and that alone, or I will end your miserable existence myself. _


	13. Lock My Heart Away

**Salem**

    "Maker's blood-soaked breath, Salem!" Fergus thundered, slamming his fist against the door for the tenth time. "Open this door or I will break it down!"

     I cursed under my breath as the straps of my armor slipped between my fingers yet again. Feeling had not returned to my hands; even though the fire burned hot in my rooms, I could not feel it. My soul had been washed in ice and nothing could return sensation to it. It had been lost, my heart torn asunder...for the second time. 

     " _Salem!_ " my brother roared, kicking at the door. 

      _Go to hell!_

Fury cascaded through my mind, blurring my vision, taking over what heart I had left. The same frigidity I had felt when I watched my mother fall to Howe's marauder's ached in my chest now. I wanted to plunge my hands into my chest, rip apart my ribs, tear out my heart and hold it above the flames so that it might burn away to ash and let me not  _feel_ the sum of my suffering. 

      _Again..._ the world pounded like a death knell with every beat of my unnatural heart... _again...again. I have watched everything I love be stolen from me. I have been driven into darkness with no respite, set against enemies with far more strength and power. How many times, Maker? How many **fucking** times are we going to dance to this macabre mockery of my existence!?_ 

     "Arlessa!" Fergus kicked at the door once more and it gave, the wood splintering around the bolt. The door swung wide on its hinges and my irate brother stormed into the room. "Do  _not_ force me to pull rank, sister!"

     His eyes were my mother's eyes, crackling with lightning and fury, underscored by heart-wrenching concern. The look in them broke me further, but I would not,  _could not_ , admit it. I could not shatter. I could not fall to pieces. I was not  _allowed_  to do so. 

     "You could not pull rank if I tried." I ignored him, buckling the final strap on my bracer. 

     "I am the teryn of Highever  _and_ your older brother." Fergus' tone lost its anger and became impassioned and imploring. "I think..."

     "I am the Warden Commander of Ferelden and the voice of the king." I hissed, despising both titles and the burdens they placed on my shoulders. "I am untouchable by all kingdoms and all powers...all save the  _one_ that came to take from me."

     "Salem, please." he entreated. "This is madness. Who," he glanced at my eyes and quickly turned away, "who  _are_  you? Maker's breath, your eyes...it's unholy."

      _Unholy..._ the words stung against my ears, but it brought the bleak truth into the sordid light of day. I  _was_ an unnatural creature. I had condoned a dark ritual and it had changed me in ways that I did not know the full measure of. I regretted ever making that choice. I regretted living. 

     "Look at me, brother." I urged him to see me as I was: armored and impenetrable, in body and in soul. A creature born to take life. Born with a sword in my hand. "Look at who I have become. I love you, Fergus, but I am not the sister you remember."

     "That  _isn't_ true." he countered, flinging an accusatory finger in my face. "I watched you at the Landsmeet, fighting for the freedom and good of Ferelden. I heard the tales of what you did in Denerim, saving the elves, evacuating the wounded, preserving the lives of our countrymen at great cost to your own welfare."

     "You saw a woman who had rediscovered herself." I told him. "Your path reconnected with mine after my soul had begun to heal. Now you have seen those wounds torn open, and the only one who could have mended them is  _gone_. Leave me now, Fergus, please. I have no desire to hurt you."

     "You are hurting me regardless." Fergus claimed, breaking my heart yet further until it felt but shredded muscle and pulped flesh. "I do not know this Salem who stands before me. Where is my  _sister?"_

     "Dead." I answered, slinging my swords across my back. "Or...at least...she should be."

     " _What?_ " Fergus' voice softened and his eyes filled with questions. 

      _I had learned to smile again. I had grown accustomed to laughter. It was so easy to forget. So easy until the Maker himself stole Leliana, giving her a vision that clouded our futures. It was so easy until I realized the magnitude of the destiny of the woman who holds my heart and my soul and her life. So easy until the truth crashed down on me with a weight greater than the safety of Thedas._

     "I should have died, Fergus." I spoke the words to someone who would listen, who would not, in grief, turn away, or in love protest the truth of it. "The warden's curse, the magic of the Joining...when an archdemon is felled, the warden who strikes the killing blow  _always_ makes the sacrifice of their own life. That has been the warden's fate since the beginning of the darkspawn. To wrap the tainted soul of a damned god within our own and  _die_ from the strain of it, destroying both enemy and self."

     "Then...how..." Fergus threw up his hands in confusion. "Are you not a true warden? Is the archdemon not truly slain?"

      _Perhaps. Who may know...I struck a deal with Morrigan; an act far more dangerous than walking into a den of vipers._

     "I made friends in strange places." I admitted. "Those who dove deep into the arcane, who had knowledge that outstrips all of the knowledge contained in the Circles of Magi."

     "Apostates?" Fergus supplied, and I nodded. 

     "I wanted to  _live_." I twisted the ring on my finger, feeling the wings of the nightingale pull against my skin, screaming at me to follow Leliana, though I knew I could not. "I am young, I  _love_ her so much, and I was so...so  _tired_...so tired of paying dues that gods demanded. Sick to death of endless sacrifice, of always having  _some_ part of me bleeding and bandaged. I wanted something that was mine, something  _good_. Something  _pure_. Something that did not require my blood as price."

     Fergus shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And so the histories repeat." he sighed. "Yet another Cousland making a deal with...with..." he could not say the word, but I could, because it was truth.

     "A demon." I finished, admitting my guilt. "Who can say? I know that  _I_ believe she is not entirely human. But the deal was offered and I accepted it." I heaved a sigh, but the burden would not leave me. "It would have been better for all involved if I had acquiesced to my first instinct and refused."

     "I disagree." Fergus raised his head. "As troublesome, bothersome, and unhealthily stubborn as you are, I would prefer you alive. You are my sister, my last remaining family, and I wanted you to live. Leliana wanted you to live."

     "Leliana was meant for greater things than being the wife of a Grey Warden." I felt tears in my eyes at the words, the pulling and tearing of my spirit as I tried to fight against the truth. 

     But Cousland blood ran through my veins. Honesty lived in my blood. No matter the pain, no matter the anguish, no matter the utter desolation of spirit, I would not lie to myself or any other. Even about this...the complete and utter devastation of my heart and mind and life. 

     "She would have forgiven fate." I breathed, looking out the window to the star-stained sky, wondering if Leliana's heart screamed as mine did; if pain wracked her body and tormented her mind. 

     "I would not have." Fergus broke into my thoughts. "My father, my mother, my wife, and my child were all wiped out in a single night. Stolen from me. I thought you, too, had been slaughtered. I could not have endured losing you again, Salem. Not after I knew you were alive."

     "Stop." I begged, unable to bear kindness in this moment, when I wanted to revile myself. "Please, Fergus...I...I cannot..."

     "Salem." my brother wrapped his arms around me, ignoring my armor as he tried to impart comfort, caring, and love. "There is nothing you cannot do, no trial you cannot surmount, no enemy you cannot defeat. I have witnessed this with my own eyes enough times to know it is truth."

     "You are wrong." I wept in his embrace. "I cannot live without her...not as I was...I cannot  _do_ this, Fergus. I cannot lift this country on my shoulders  _again._ "

     "Let me help you." he offered. "Please, Salem, let me help you. I will send scouts to Amaranthine and send a report. We can go to Alistair and ask for his help contacting the Divine. We can intercede on your behalf, Salem, and try to get Leliana back. Back in your arms where she belongs. I can and will do all of this and more, if you will but allow it. Let me help you, sister."

     I pulled out of his embrace and looked him in the eye, seeing the earnest light in his gaze, the sorrow, the worry, and the compassion. He did not understand. He could not. He knew nothing of Leliana's visions, nothing of the fact that the god we believed in and served had broken his silence and chosen my beloved's ear to whisper into. He did not know, and thus could not aid me as he thought. 

     "My dear brother," I leaned in and kissed his cheek with my frigid lips, "you cannot help me."

     I turned and lifted my satchel, then walked to the door, leaving my brother in distraught silence behind me. 

      _You cannot help me, Fergus...no one can._


	14. Nightmares and Waking Terrors

**Leliana**

_**It has not settled in yet.** I sit beside the fire, luxuriating in the feel of Salem's fingers idly combing through my hair. I lean back into her touch, basking in the sensation of heat and warmth.  **You alone can fill the air with love until I feel that I am breathing your emotion and your strength.**_

_I relax further into her open arms, inhaling the scent of sweat and metal on her skin, falling as nothingness catches me and hurls me backwards, into a deep chasm. I land with a crash, a tangled mess of silk and perfume that has become foreign to me. Foreign now, because once such aromas defined my life. They no longer do, but somehow I am here, among them again. Wondering why, I stagger to my feet and walk across the cobblestone streets._

_The air is filled with the sounds of mourning and grief, and a somber dirge crafted of flutes and violins reaches my ears. I look through the throngs of people, all clad in the black of mourning, seeking out a face that I recognize but finding nothing. All eyes are gazing at a covered statue in the city square of Val Royeaux._

_"Excuse me." I grab a passerby's arm and my fingers slip through his flesh as though he does not exist._

_**What is happening?**_

_"Leliana." a whisper calls to me, a voice on the edge of sound, low and rough and full of love. "Leliana, come to me. I am here."_

_I push my way through the crowd, afraid as I find I can pass through the bodies that look more solid than my own. I search for the voice that continues to whisper my name, calling me through the crowd, the fog, and the mystery. I follow its cadence and find it at last, standing at the base of the covered statue, holding her hand out to me in invitation._

_I take a deep inhale and reach, afraid that, once again, Salem will be torn from me. But no. Her hand envelops me in warmth and she pulls me into her embrace, the sole solid thing in this shadow world. I rest my head against her shoulder, gripping her tight to me, unwilling to let her go, for I know I cannot lose her again. My soul cannot bear that pain again._

_"It has been too long." she whispers. "You have been sorely missed, dear heart."_

_"Salem," I open my eyes and glance around, seeing buildings that were not there before, new fashions, age-worn structures that, when last I looked on them, were fresh and new. I did not know this Val Royeaux. "What is this? Where are we?"_

_"You stand at the unveiling of the new monument, built in honor of the savior of Thedas...the Maker's chosen." Salem answers, gazing upwards with a fervor and pride that I do not understand._

_"Yet another statue of Andraste?" I ask, wondering why such a thing is of such great importance to draw a crowd of this magnitude._

_"No, my love." she smiles, and it is sad, and it is longing, and it is dreams unfulfilled. "The Maker spoke again; walked among his people, returned from his silence. Thedas has hope again...and all because of you."_

_**Me?**_ **  
**

_I watch, transfixed in awe and what might be horror as the cover slips away and I see my own image carved in stone, hair engraved as though blown by a phantom wind, my bow outstretched, arm curved back, reaching for a stone arrow. A pose of battle, not calm respite. However, as I examine all that there is to take in, a single thought fills my mind._

_**What happened? What is this? Salem, my love, please help me! I do not understand!**_

_"Salem...what is this?" I ask her again, not wanting to embrace the answer, but knowing that I **must** hear it. _

_"It is a tombstone." Salem's eyes fill with tears. "For a life well-lived... **long-** lived. It is to honor the woman who spoke to a kind, forgiving god, and saw his will done in Thedas. At last."_

_**Cryptics and generics! I need more than that! I need to know what has happened that this monument has...has been built in my honor!**_  

_"But **what** happened?" I demand. "This is not right! What happened to us? What happened to you!?"_

_"You changed the world, Leliana." Salem whispers. "You changed the world and ended wars and made...you made everything better. Everything new. As for me..." she shrugs her shoulders and I see that the scars in her eyes, the scar on her cheek, are gone. "...you need not worry yourself with that, dear heart."_

_"Salem, **tell** me!" I shout, unable to bear the tears I see on the faces of myriad strangers. Strangers who...mourned me? Loved me? _

_My warden smiles again, but her eyes are filled with sorrow, as though she holds something so precious and fragile that mere speech will shatter it._

_"Leliana," she closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, "I died."_

* * *

     "Leliana." a warm hand, gentle pressure on my shoulder. "Lady Cousland, wake up."

     My eyes flashed open and my heart screamed that last words o fthe dream over and over in an agonizing echo that would not silence. 

      _I died...I died...I died..._ _  
_

Kathyra knelt before me, scrutinizing me, her green eyes lit with worry. "It's my turn at watch." she held a key before my eyes. "I thought you might want this."

     I flashed her a mischievous grin as I lifted my hands and the metal circlets fell from them with a muted clatter. I had unlocked the shackles before falling into an exhausted slumber. So that Cassandra did not take it into her mind to institute further insane measures, I had left the manacles around my wrists. 

     Kathyra rocked back on her heels and chuckled. "I should have known." she said, shaking her head in the manner of one who had discovered the truth, or a secret. 

     Anger fired through my veins, struggling against the deep grief and shock of the dream. I gazed at Cassandra, who slept by the fire. Her brow was creased and her eyes worked rapidly beneath their lids. I knew that she dreamed, and also that those dreams were not pleasant. However, I could not bring myself to care, and pulled a dagger from its hidden sheath in my boot. Kathyra's lips tightened as her eyes darted from Casssandra's prone form to the weapon in my hand. 

     "Are you going to attempt to stop me?" I asked the physician.

     "Are you planning to kill her?" she replied with a question. 

     "No."

     "Then do what you must." Kathyra acquiesced and walked away from the fire, to the crest of the small hill that shielded us from the wind that whipped through the grasses. 

     I crept up to the Seeker and moved her sword, which lay within arm's reach. I placed it behind me and threaded my hand through Cassandra's long, raven hair. With a practiced motion, I pulled her upwards and back against me, setting my blade against the small nick in her throat, put there by Salem's sword. 

     Cassandra gasped and her hands scrabbled through the grass, searching for her sword. Her flailing movements ceased as I pressed my knife deeper into her skin, as she realized that I held the upper hand. 

     "Do not cry warning." I ordered as her eyes darted from the slumbering Ren to the absence of Kathyra. "Or I will slit your throat."

     "You bardic bitch." she hissed, struggling against me though she could not break my hold. "What do you want?"

     "That you consider  _this_ a threat." I whispered against her ear, catching the shell of it between my teeth and biting to the point of pain, as Marjolaine had so often done to those she controlled. A small, pained noise slipped from Cassandra's lips and I smiled, malicious. "I told you that your life hinged on my integrity, and you refused to believe me. You locked me in irons and have spoken to me with nothing but contempt.  _You_ are not my judge, Seeker Pentaghast, even if you do stand as the Divine's Right Hand. My fate rests with the Maker, but  _your_ fate rests with me."

     " _What. Do. You. **Want?** " _she growled, and I hated her with such fierceness that it frightened me. 

     "Decency. Respect. Comport yourself as your rank requires and do not speak ill of me or of Salem in my presence or in another's presence  _again._ Do we have an accord?" **  
**

"Yes." the spat the word.

     "That is not satisfactory." I placed the point of my knife beneath her chin. One thrust upward and she would be dead; we both knew this for truth. 

     "I swear it." she ground up between clenched teeth. 

     Satisfied, I let her go. She clutched her throat, breathing heavy and glaring at me with nothing less than pure loathing. I rose to depart and she lunged for her sword. I planted my foot on the sheath of her sword and pressed the tip of my dagger against the tear duct of her left eye.

     "You claim that you have killed dragons." I spoke in a conversational tone, watching the blood drain from her face as I spun the knife against her eye. "Could you do so without your sight?"

     "Of course not." she scoffed. "There are none who could."

     "You're wrong." I flipped my blade in my hand and slammed the hilt against her temple, watching with satisfaction as she crumpled into unconsciousness. "Sleep well, Lady Pentaghast."

      I walked back to my horse and threw myself onto the soft, downy grasses of Highever. The chill of the night crept into my bones and I pulled the cloak Kathyra had loaned to me over my shuddering body. A single ruby drop clung to the tip of my dagger and I plunged the weapon into the ground, sick to my stomach. 

      _That is not who I am any longer,_ I shivered, this time not from the chill, trying to convince myself of something that I did not quite believe.  _I do not want to be what once I was. I have no wish to engage in the fripperous Game. Salem...you saved me from that life. You taught me that a weapon in my hands could bring peace, comfort, and ensure life. You showed me that there is a difference to be found between battles...those battles fought for others and those fought for self._

     "I am not who I was." I whispered, my voice low and plaintive like a child who prayed, begging for their wishes to be truth. "I am  _not_ who I was."

     My mind recalled the feeling of warm, muscled arms wrapping around me, scarred hands stroking through my hair, a voice that could calm storms and out-ring thunder. 

      _I died._

     The full gravity of being torn apart from her crashed upon me and I clung to the ground, my body wrenched with sobs. I could not give full voice to my anguish, and it burned tighter and hotter until I felt I would collapse inward and born. The signet ring of House Cousland seemed to sear my skin and I curled my hand into a fist and pressed it against my open mouth, muffling my screams, biting my knuckles until they bled. 

     For the third time in my life...I cried myself to sleep. 

 


	15. The Bleak Road Leading Forward

**Salem**

    I woke from a tenuous sleep, jerking at the new sounds of the symphony of crickets. I groaned and rolled over, placing my palms against the slick, dew-drenched grass, attempting to gather the strength to rise. A familiar pain shredded between my temples and I could not restrain the dark laughter that bubbled in my chest. 

     The harsh sound echoed and died in the breeze that had grown warmer as the days passed. Spring had come to Ferelden at last, assuring the people that all hope was not lost, that healing could begin in earnest; that they could forget the trials of winter and the Blight that had threatened to ravage their homeland and destroy their lives. 

      _It has not been so long, after all,_ I reasoned as I collapsed against the ground, utterly exhausted. I rolled onto my back and gauged the position of the moon. It had been a little more than two candlemarks since I had finally slipped into slumber.  _Not so long since all voices were hushed and talk of civil war and darkspawn touched everyone's lips with a burning fear. A month...two? I have not kept a proper hold on time...I was too happy...how quickly everything fades._

     I pinched the bridge of my nose as the pain from the headache sawed through my neck. I did not need a mirror to know that the skin beneath my eyes looked bruised and tender; to see the firing of scarlet veins acros the white of my eyes. 

     At last, I managed to sit up, rubbing my right leg in a manner that had become more habitual than therapeutic. The long days of riding towards Amaranthine had antagonized the old injury. It ached consistently now, a dull throb that, like the headache, I had become accustomed to. 

     I stretched and rose from the ground, folding my bedroll and tucking it into my saddlebag; stamping out the coals of the fire that had already begun to burn low. I knew well enough that I would not find sleep again if I sought it out. Closing my eyes in rest had become a study in torture. 

      _Every night...remembering her, thinking of her. The good times. The horrific. The moments that could be called neither, and yet grow sweet as miles begin to separate us. My dreams twist my memories, impose injuries that **I** suffered upon  **her** body; create new monsters out of long dead nightmares, ready to devour me the instant my eyes close and my heart can tremble behind its walls. Leliana must have reached the sea by now...Maker, I am tired. So tired. Are you as weary as I am, dear heart?_  

     My horse glared at me in disapproval as I lifted the saddle once more across her long-suffering back, as if in reminder that, even though I could not refresh my body and heal my soul, not all creatures had been denied that privilege. I patted her neck in reassurance and loosely cinched the straps. She had been ridden hard and long and deserved what rest she could get while I strained at the limits of human endurance. 

     I took the halter rope in my hand and began walking, taking my horse's snort as a show of approval. The light of the full moon was strong enough to see by, and I watched the flowing grasses ripple in the breeze. The entirety of the land was at rest, but I could not join it. I could but slog on towards my destination, alone and weary and anxious and achingly, blisteringly lonely. 

      _I did not realize,_ my thoughts spoke to me,  _how much I took companionship for granted in those early days. How the mere presence of another could warm the night and provide solace. Even from the first, when I was broken and cold and isolated, there were always things to focus on. Alistair and Morrigan's arguments, Burrow's madcap dashing after new and foreign scents. Now...nothing but me and the wind and this horse._

     I had considered bringing Burrow along, but thought better of it. The mabari had not been young when we had fled Highever after Howe's attack. He had been a staunch and stalwart companion and, at first, the only one I could trust. He deserved to live out his last few years at Cousland Hall in the warmth of the kennels and the affections of his own kind. Fergus would take excellent care of him. Burrow deserved better than my misery. The one I loved had been stolen from me. It would not be right to inflict my hardships on another creature, even a mute animal. 

     I missed Highever, the friendliness of its people, the constant talk and commotion in the streets. Amaranthine thus far had been eerie...quiet. The few towns I had visited to resupply had all been hushed, ill-at-ease...on edge. The villagers spoke in low, worried tones, suspicious of my armor and shying away from my eyes. It did not encourage me. If they could not even look at me, how could they accept my leadership?

     When I had been forced to speak, I had adopted a rough version of Leliana's accent, hoping that the villagers would take me for an Orlesian warden went by Weisshaupt. Were I to disclose my true identity, I knew I would not receive an honest answer to any question. Amaranthine had been governed by the Howes for decades, even when Ferelden languished under Orlesian rule. Lies of placation would be the response to any inquiry from a freshly minted liege lord. 

     Instead, I had received minor truths from my deception. Roving bands of darkspawn, troubles with bandits along the main roads, anxiety over the new arlessa, and whether or not she would be suited to the grave task at hand...

      _Howe nearly bankrupted this province in order to finance the army he helped Loghain build. His people are suffering from heavy taxation, the land is suffering as farmers are abusing it to bring enough crops to pay their dues and feed their families. It has to be stopped...but how? Will I have **any** support from the bannorn here? Will I even have time to see to the welfare of the arling if these reports of darkspawn are true? _

     I wanted Leliana. I wanted her musical, lyrical voice in my ear, giving me sage advice and whispering encouragements. She could impart strength in the bleakest of circumstances, inspire hope when I thought it lost, restore my faith with a simple, mute gesture. But she was not here with me, and I could not dream her here, wish her here, or bring her here. I was alone. 

     I continued walking, meditating on my burdens and my losses as the moon sunk lower and lower in the sky. Dark voices began to scissor away at the edge of my hearing, burning in my chest. Alarm fired through me as I scented smoke in the air. Rain began to all as my blood burned. I would never forget this feeling, this sensation, this...knowing. 

      _Maker-damned Darkspawn._

     I cinched my horse's saddle tighter and mounted, kicking her lightly into a gallop, in the direction of the screaming that none other could hear. My palms itched and the swords on my back seemed to catch flame. A prickle of fear crept into my heart...fear that I did not have the luxury of indulging. 

      _Thus this new chapter begins...and I do not know if I am strong enough to face it alone. Leliana...I wish you were here. I need your love. I need your faith. I want you by my side. I need...I need **you.**_


	16. Not Going Home

**Leliana**

    I closed my eyes and leaned against the railing of the ship, watching as the sky turned pink in the east. The salt of the sea stung my nose and the rolling comfort of the waves did little to assuage my restless spirit. A warm breeze ruffled through my hair and I threw my head back, imagining Salem's fingers threading through my tresses; imagning the warmth of her skin, the scars that individualized her touch on an intimate level. 

      _I miss you...I miss you always, but most at sunrise._

    "I thought you might be found here." Kathyra's voice broke the silence of the morning. 

     She continued to be the one of the three who cared at all for my well-being, comfort, and thoughts. Many a night she had forsaken the fireside to sit with me, talking of subjects that strayed away from our final fate and the unending ache in my soul. It had been a welcome, and pleasant, if I were completely honest, distraction. Kathyra seemed kind, but I did not know if this was a ruse, a ploy, a gambit in the Game. 

     But I would accept it, for now. Since the first night at the fire, Cassandra had spoken to me in the same manner as Ren, the mute...gestures and glares. Her duty was to present me to the Divine in Val Royeaux, for what reason... _I still do not know._

"And here I am." I replied, not in the mood for conversation. 

      _I need answers. And it would appear that Cassandra is the sole person here who possesses an inkling of why this happened. Why I was torn away from Salem._

"You look like shit." Kathyra tossed me a smile, ignoring the terseness of my greeting. "Not used to sea travel, I take it?"

     "I love the sea." I pulled my eyes from her and gazed at the undulating waters of the deep. "I've missed it..."

     "Soon." Kathyra placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Soon we will be home again."

     My muscles  _screamed_ as they tensed and Kathyra flinched as she withdrew what she thought was an errant touch. 

     " _What_ do you mean by  _home_?" I asked, demanding to know why she had said those words. 

     "Well..." she backpedaled, searching for where she had gone wrong, "...Val Royeaux. Where you are from. Where I am from. Is that not what you consider home?"

     I sighed as I realized that I had misread her words. I could not help my reaction though...I had spent too long in the company of one who had no desire or reason to lie. I had been forced to rearrange my mind, allowing doubt and apprehension to filter in. They had saved my life countless times in the past. They might save me now...but...

      _I no longer care for them...they have become enemies instead of friends. A burden rather than an asset._

     "Val Royeaux is no longer my home, nor will it ever be." my shoulders slumped and my breath rushed out in a sigh. "You took me from my home, or do you not recall?"

     I wondered if I imagined the flicker of guilt that flashed across the physician's face, but I dismissed it. Guilt could not evoke forgiveness, no matter its intensity. 

     "Maker's blood, Leliana, I didn't...I am sorry." she sighed and ran her fingers through her tangled, ash-blonde hair. "I'm making a right fuck-all of this am I not?"

     "I must confess that I do not even know what  _this_ is." I muttered, staring down at the planks of the ship deck. "Forgive me for being short-tempered...I have not slept well since our departure."

     Kathyra nodded her understanding. " _This_ , if I were to define it, is...well...what I had hoped might be a friendship." she gave a tight smile. "And you should have spoken to me about not sleeping. I could easily provide a remedy."

     "Unnecessary." I waved my hand, dismissive. "I would rather be thrown awake from nightmares than dreamless in a drugged stupor...at least then..."

     I closed my lips, unwilling to divulge further information to a woman who had Cassandra's ear. As much as I felt a kindred spirit in Kathyra, as kind as she had been to me, her allegiance was not mine to command. It belonged to Divine Beatrix and her Right Hand, and from where I currently stood, both of them were no friend to me. 

     "At least then you can see her...the one that you love." Kathyra finished my thoughts and my eyes flashed to hers, riddled with questions. 

      _How lax have I been?_ I wondered.  _Was I so desperate for a listening ear and companionship that I have let my guard falter? How does she know this of me? Furthermore, how does she understand?_

     "Your love for the warden is quite blatant." Kathyra supplied when I could not form a question. "I could not help but assume that your quick refusal for help in sleeping was for a reason that outstrips good health and sense. Love is the sole desire I know that outstrips survival. Forgive my forwardness."

     "It would seem you and I spend more time apologizeing than speaking of anything of import." I frowned. 

     "Indeed." she looked across the sea, searching for the home we traveled toward. "Perhaps it is because I wish to ask forgiveness for my first and greatest offense, and I cannot find the words."

     "I do not think I can find it within me to forgive." I told the blatant truth, much in the style of my warden. "Perhaps it is best we keep our veneer of civility."

     "Until you know if you can trust me." Kathyra sighed, following with a low chuckle. "Maker, this brings back memories."

     I could have pressed further, but my thoughts veered to another, more important matter. "Where might I find Cassandra?" I asked. 

     The ship's captain had informed us that we would reach Val Royeaux near sunset. My heart hoped for a brief conference with the Divine and then a return to Highever. My mind knew that such a thing would not be possible. Those in power did not take someone from their home if they intended to return them to it. Otherwise...otherwise, I would not have been taken at all. 

     "Cass is in her cabin, valiantly attempting to keep breakfast down." Kathyra answered with a wry grin. "Our Right Hand is not quite suited to traveling by ship. What did you wish to ask her?"

     "I am at my end with being kept in the dark." I pushed off of the ship's railing and mentally readied myself for another confrontation with Cassandra. "I  _will_ know the reason I have been summoned. I  _will not_ face the Divine unprepared, and she will not make me be so."

     I turned to go below deck and Kathyra stopped me. "She will not tell you, not the truth of it." the physician sighed. "But I will."

     I stopped and scrutinized Kathyra's eyes. They seemed to hold truth, but I could not trust it. There was only one who would never lie to me...and she was gone. Perhaps forever. No...I could not believe that. I would not. 

     "Will you?"

     "I will tell you what I know." she amended. "Which is as much as Cassandra knows. Believe me, she is as furious as you at the mystery shrouding your summons. Beatrix is perhaps the most skilled player of the Game. She reveals nothing that is not necessary."

     "Then why would you tell me now?" I asked, for Kathyra had divulged no information the many times I had inquired. 

     "Because you do not trust me, and I wish to remedy that." she replied, careful, tactful, tense. "I became a physician to atone for past mistakes," the honesty in her eyes remained unchanged, "but it was not enough. So, much like you, I swore my services to the Chantry. I do not take delight in the suffering of others, not any longer...and I know that you have suffered at our collective hands. Perhaps, if I prove to you my desire to atone, you will find it within your heart to forgive us."

     "You, perhaps." I gave her a glimmer of hope, on the off-chance that she might be givng me the truth. "The others, no. Cassandra threatened Salem's life...I cannot disregard that."

     "Your wife is a poet with a sword." Kathyra smiled. "I have never seen Cassandra Pentaghast of Nevarra so utterly...humiliated. It was good for her. She's young yet."

      _You are straying away from our topic._

     "She cannot be much younger than you." I mused. "But she is hot-tempered and acts too quickly for one of her position. I dare to wonder why such an auspicious title was granted her, but I am not asking for her history. I am asking for the reason behind my summons to Orlais with the most prestigious of...escorts." 

_Jailers._

     Kathyra crossed her arms and appraised me. "The stories about your warden spread like wildfire." she began. "As did stories of the company she kept. The murderous qunari, the Antivan Crow, the circle mage, dwarven warrior, apostate witch, bastard prince, ancient golem, fierce mabari, and, well...you. An Orlesian bard and wanted fugitive, hiding in the Lothering Chantry and professing...well...things beyond comprehension."

     "My vision?" my thoughts darkened as myriad worries invaded my mind. 

     Kathyra nodded. "The Divine wants to assess the truth of your claims for herself. This...well...it's unprecedenced, and if it is true?  _Maker's breath..._ the ramifications are staggering."

     I stood there, mute, allowing my thoughts to race. 

      _If it is true...and it is, grievously so, then the Divine will desire to use me, convert me...swear me in service to the Chantry. Or worse, she will view me as a threat and condemn me to death. A royal pardon does me no good if the Chantry has designs on my life. They are free from any governmental rule; honored by all kings. None but Salem would offer me protection if this goes badly. But chances stand that I would not live to make it back to Ferelden. Maker, what is your will in this? Sending me visions with no interpretation, knowledge without understanding. I cannot do this alone, and you have stolen my ally from me._

     Kathyra worried her lower ip with her teeth and refused to meet my eyes. "I should look in on Cassandra." she mumbled, an excuse to escape further inquiries. "Leliana...be  _careful_." she stressed the last word, though it was unnecessary. 

     "I will." I promised. She began to walk below decks. "And, Kathyra," she turned back to me, " _...thank you._ "


	17. Hell and Havoc

**Salem**

     The scent of smoke grew stronger in the air, stinging, invading my mind with the memory of the archdemon's blue fire. The images of the final battle, forever imprinted on my memory, roared to the forefront of my vision and I felt my heart begin to race. The black voices clawing at and inside my ears intensified and I pushed my horse harder, faster, nearly trampling the warrior who stood in the road. I reined in sharply and tumbled from the saddle, drawing my swords. The slight figure in the burgundy washed armor of Denerim's knights approached me and I lowered my blades as she lifted her hands in placation.

     "Go no further." she warned.

     "What's happened here?" I brushed past her, looking to the leaping flames devouring the buildings beyond, the thick black smoke rising behind the walls of the fortress.

     _I hear screaming; the cries of innocents torn asunder. I feel souls cut loose from their bodies and I sense the hands taking them. This land is mine to serve; these lives are mine to protect. This burden is **mine.**_

     "Who are you..."

     I turn to her, perhaps too fast, eyes flaring with vengeance and death. The knight cowered and her eyes filled with recognition.

     "Warden Commander." she fell to one knee. "Arlessa. Forgive me, I..."

     "No time." I interrupted, extending my hand and pulling her, ungentle, from her position of fealty. "Tell me what's happened. Now."

     "A darkspawn invasion." she answered as we moved towards the city gates. "You've arrived at Vigil's Keep, arlessa. Or..." her voice caught, "...what's left of it. I was on patrol when the blaze started. We're all so scattered...I haven't seen any others from unit. I...I was on my way to find help."

     "I'm here now." I clapped my hand on the young woman's shoulder, trying to impart some measure of strength, breathing deeply in order to calm myself, tasting the smoke in the air on the back of my throat.

     _Remember who you must be, Salem. Unfaltering. Invincible. Unshakeable. Give them faith in the most dire of circumstances. Let them follow you, and leave no room for doubts._

     "Maker be praised for that." she wiped sweat from her brow and drew her own blade as she fell in step beside me. "I'm Mhairi of the Denerim Guard, arlessa."

     "Salem. Just Salem." I spoke, reaching out with my unnatural sense, widening the revelation of my presence to let the darkspawn sense me and break away from their attack on the Keep. "We've no time for titles."

     "Yes, ma'am." the knight nodded.

      _So bloody young,_ I glanced at her youthful face and my hands trembled. _I was young once. It seems to very long ago. Why is there a division of the Denerim Guard in Amaranthine,_ my thoughts strayed to other matters as the guttural growling of the darkspawn came closer. _I heard nothing of such things. I suppose they may have been sent to keep the peace before the Orlesian wardens arrived. Maker's blood-soaked breath! So many questions and **no fucking time!**_

     The air thickened around me and I grabbed Mhairi by her pauldron and jerked her backwards as a shriek materialized and its wicked claws slashed down exactly where the soldier had been standing. I brought my sword up in an underhanded strike, severing the creatures bladed hand from its body. An anguished howl filled the air and the shriek leapt at me. I dodged to the side, preparing to strike when another blade plunged into the darkspawn's back and pinned it. It twitched against the earth in its death throes.

     "Well done." I offered a brief encouragement as Mhairi's trembling hand removed her sword and we continued towards the gates of Vigil's Keep.

     The air heated as we grew closer to the gates. I frowned when I saw that the gate had been closed. I could hear the screaming and noises of pitched battle within...but the gates remained unbreached. This did not make sense...or...or the sense it did make meant something _far_ worse had happened.

     _The darkspawn must have found a way inside. I never heard of there being entrances to the Deep Roads in Amaranthine...but who could say? The dwarves have lost much knowledge of their former empire. For all we know, there are countless such tunnels spidering beneath all of Ferelden._

     The small door within the gates opened and a man came rushing towards us, waving his arms in a frantic gesture. "Get back!" he shouted warning. "Flee for your lives!"

     I grabbed him by his shirt as he passed and saw the fear in his eyes as he saw the black, tainted blood splashed across my face. "What's happened?" I asked.

     He swallowed and his adam's apple jerked in his throat. "Darkspawn...everywhere...raiding the city. Everyone's dead! _Everyone_. Even the _wardens!"_

     _Maker's blood-soaked breathe! Weisshaupt sent a dozen! Surely they could not all have fallen!?_

     "Get to safety." I told him, sensing by the trembling of his body and the pallor of his face that he would faint if not given a mission to put himself to.

     "What are you doing?" Mhairi asked as she watched the man rush off as though all of hell pursued him. "We could have used him! He could have helped!"

     "He's no soldier." I pressed towards the gates, planning to enter through the same gate the man had exited by. We needed to get the gates themselves open. There would be no way to do so from the outside and within... _everyone is dead..._

     "Does that matter?" the young woman questioned and I turned to her, fierce.

     "I _will not_ endanger the lives of those unaccustomed to weapons. I am liege lord of this land and warden commander and My. Word. Is. Law. Question me again, and darkspawn will be the least of your worries."

     Properly abashed, she shook her head. "Yes, ma'am."

     We approached the gates and Mhairi called out names I did not know, but I presumed they were those of her comrades. Perhaps event those set to watch the gates...they were more than likely dead, but I knew that she understood that as well as I.

     _I should have come sooner. I should not have lingered as long as I did in Highever. I should not have trusted others to protect this place. How many must suffer from my selfishness? Damn me into hell. Yet again._

     "My comrades should have opened the gates by now!" Mhairi shouted, despair coloring her tone. "The people have no avenue of escape!"

     "We will find a way to get them open!" I turned from the soldier to the gates as an eerie keening shredded through my awareness.

     I sensed the explosion before I heard it and the gates fractured into splinters. I tackled Mhairi to the ground, covering her body with my own as flaming debris rained around us. Something heavy crashed into the back of my skull and I clenched my jaw as nausea welled up and world spun before my eyes.

     The cackling laughter of a gunlock mage met my ears and I growled as I got to my feet. "Are you all right?" I asked Mhairi.

     "Just a splinter." she gritted her teeth as she pulled a sharp piece of wood from her leg, an inch of it stained red. "I'm all right."

     _Brave. Young. Foolish. You'll be a good soldier, once life has slammed some wisdom between your ears._

     "Stay here." I rushed off after the retreating gunlock, unsurprised when I heard staggered footfalls behind me.

     _At least she didn't question the order...just disobeyed it. I like her._

     I ignored the blurred edges of the world and the sick twisting in my gut as the darkspawn realized that their favored prey had just invaded. I launched into an attack as they came at us from all sides.

     _Let them come._ I smiled as the burning in my blood spooled up to a fever-pitch. _Let them meet their death...for death is all that is left to me; it is all I have to give._


	18. A Life Lived Far Away

**Leliana**

     _If nothing else,_ I thought, watching the coastline of Val Royeaux come into view,  _I can be certain that the cold hand of fate rests upon this journey. In my vision, I was not with Salem. She is without me now...perhaps this is how the Maker ordained it. However, be that the case, it offers me no comfort._

     After Kathyra had gone below deck on the flimsy excuse of remedying the Right Hand's seasickness, a fierce wind had come from seeming nowhere, as if a god had taken it upon themselves to breathe wind into our sails and speed us towards our destination. I could not deny the chill that filled my blood as the two towers of Val Royeaux smudged the horizon a hazy purple. 

      _Two towers. One for the mages. One for the Divine and the Chantry. Prisoner and jailer elevated to the same altitude. Never before when I looked upon them did it fill me with such foreboding. I wonder what has changed. Perhaps the hellish journey through the mage's tower in Ferelden awakened new thoughts and realizations. Watching a madman risk his life for power and freedom, and another dying to provide the weapon with which to destroy the abomination. The Chantry turns a deaf ear to the mages' pain and plight. Alistair's tales of his life as a templar were as dark and ominous as the mage's own. There is a great rift of understanding in this world, and the Chantry has much to answer for._

    "You'll break your fingers if you clench 'em any tighter." the ship's captain came to stand beside me. 

     I gasped as I realize that I had curled my hands into fists, so tight that the muscles were trembling. I relaxed my hands and gazed ovv into the distance, saying nothing, for I had nothing to say. 

     "We should make port in a candlemark or so." the captain spoke, needing to fill the silence. He shook his head. "It's uncanny really. Never made this trip so quickly. With spring comin' on, it's normal to chance a storm or two, but it's been clear skies and strong winds. Damned curious."

      _So I am not the only one who senses the strangeness of this._ "Indeed it is." I replied out of courtesy, for I was more than ready to be left alone with my thoughts once more. 

     "Well, less weather means fewer worries, which makes me a happy man." the captain pushed away from the railing. "You'll be home soon, milady."

      _Why does it seem that all here are insistent on seeing Val Royeaux as my home!?_ I nearly screamed in frustration. My fingers curled inward once more, fists of blatant unhappiness. 

      _I am not at home here. Not any longer. How Marjolaine would laugh if she could see me in this state:  missing the land that I spent many an evening mocking with her. She would decry me if she knew how I longed for Ferelden's rough voices and harsh terrain, its unforgiving storms and...and its personification. Salem..._

     "I say something amiss, milady?" the captain asked, raising an eyebrow. 

     I sighed. He had been nothing but the spirit of accomodation since Cassandra had all but commandeered his vessel. I owed him a measure of the same spirit he had granted us. 

     "Not at all, captain. It is simply that, though at one time I called Val Royeaux home, it has lost its truth. Your words merely stirred some old memories."

     "Tricky things, those." he smiled and it held warmth. "One reason I claim the sea as home now. She knows everythin' and says nothin' and with that we get along quite fine. I'll leave you with your thoughts, milady, though you might wish to gather your belongin's. That Chantry gal is strung on a mighty tight wire."

     Hearing the imperious Cassandra Pentaghast referred to as "that Chantry gal" awakened my sense of humor and I laughed aloud, realizing that it was the first time I had done so since leaving Cousland Hall. 

     "Thank you." I rested my hand on the alarmed man's shoulder and met his gaze. "Truly."

     "As you say, milady."

     His words burned my heart to the core, though he did not know it. He turned away and I chained down my emotions until he vanished out of my sight. Unexpected tears spilled down my cheeks and I leaned on the railing, arms trembling, eyes staring at the waves beneath. 

      _As you say,_ the words reverberated through my mind.  _The three words with which she conveyed her love, even before I knew in my heart that I belonged to her. She spoke them in fiercely controlled anger, overwhelming sorrow, heart-wrenching pain, and unfathomable love. Salem, I wish you were here. I always imagined taking you through the streets of Val Royeaux, laying bare for you the layers of my past, showing you the land in which I learned cunning and music and betrayal...I want to show it to you as you showed to me all the beauties that Ferelden could hold. Never did I want to be here without you. Never did I want to be apart from you. And yet..._ the hazy smudge of the horizon took on more defined lines and my heart fell,  _here I stand._

     I reached up and wiped my tears away, wondering how I had ever survived before my knowledge of Salem. How I had ever been the silly, fickle musician led away by Marjolaine's mischievous green eyes and syrup-sweet voice. How I had ever been the broken, fragile creature hiding and afraid in the Lothering Chantry. How I had ever been anything other than who I was now. 

      _You gave me such strength, my love. You saw through the most carefully constructed of shields..._

* * *

_... "You look tired." Salem's voice startles me and I cannot help a slight jerk. Her hand rests on my shoulder and it is warm and strong and frightening in its current gentleness. "Get some rest. I'll finish your watch."_

_"I'm all right." I say, feeling guilty that the beleaguered warden has offered to relieve me...and strangely ecited that the predominantly silent woman has spoken to me in complete sentences. "And I am certain you're exhausted."_

_We had been attacked by a pack of roving darkspawn shortly before making camp. I can still smell the stench of the burning bodies; the tainted blood scenting the air with a sickening decay. But..._

_**I have never seen one so glorious in battle. Yes, Alistair fights with trained skill, and the witch's magic is formidable and admirable, but this woman... this woman...there is battle-song in her blood. The way her eyes burned as her enemies fell, the poetry of her body in a style that is uniquely hers...I was so in awe I could barley aim my bow. **_ **   
**

_"Alas, the luxury of sleep is denied me." Salem sits down and I see the bruised half-circles beneath her eyes, making her look haggard and older than her years. "You have no need to forego it for the sake of one who cannot take advantage of your kindness."_

_**She is eloquent!?** I think again, surprised at the elegant words from the lips of one known for her silence, surprised at the beauty of an accent I once despised. _

_"If that is the case," I wish to prolong this, to keep her speaking to me, to hear that rough melody against my ears, "then it would appear we are both making moot gestures."_

_"Are you shaken by the battle?" she asks, staring off into the heart of the forest._

_"A little." I confess, ashamed that she can read me with such little effort._

_**I made a living by being elusive, concealing my thoughts and emotions, leaving my motives both unknown and unknowable. Maker's breath, I joined the warden's party but three days ago and already...already this woman can see me.** _

_"You needn't be." she assures me, and though no reason why I should be assured is provided to me, I do feel more secure._

_"Do you intend to play the dashing hero and protect us all from harm?" I tease, unable to resist the urge to attempt to crack this warrior's armor, to see the definition of the broken pieces of her soul that were evident from the first._

_"I will do my utmost to mitigate death, if that is what you are asking." she answers, refusing to share her eyes with mine. "But you misread my words, Sister Leliana."_

_"Did I?" I wonder, equal parts flirt and true question._

_"Yes." a single word, no more._

_Not content with the simplicity of her answer, I press her further. "Pray tell me then, what was your intended meaning?  Why should I not be shaken?"_

_"Because you do not know fear." Salem relaxes fully against the earth, lying still and gazing up at the constellations. "You looked me directly in the eye and told me that the Maker had given you a vision. Any woman who not only could, but **would** confess such a thing to a complete stranger has a spine made of steel and a heart that fears nothing. I am quite certain you shall be able to rise to any challenge that you may meet."_

_Something deep within my soul is stirred at the power and simplicity of her words. She has spoken in such plain language, but it felt eloquent to my hearing, and made my heart pound in my chest. At one point in my life, I had become so inured to beauty that I felt nothing could move me. But perhaps I had looked at but one definition of beauty for too long. Perhaps I needed it re-defined...perhaps she could help grant me that definition._

_"You do not know me." I whisper, fighting the blush that creeps across my cheeks, for I do not wish my emotions to be betrayed._

_**Stop it, Leliana! You have seen how this ends!** _

_Salem shrugs her shoulders and in her prone state the gesture looks ridiculous. I lift a hand to cover my smile._

_"I know that you confided a secret that could see you locked in a madhouse, or worse, burned as a heretic." she muses, and I feel that she has a torrent of speech constrained within her, held at bay by the great pain and fathomless sorrow that lives in her blue eyes. "I know that my fury calmed at your words, and that is no mean feat. I know that you offered to join a group of strangers, all with prices on our heads, for no discernable reason. You have chosen to risk your life with us for no repayment. If that does not bespeak great strength of heart and character, then I am more ignorant of this world than first I thought."_

_**You are weak, Leliana,** Marjolaine's old taunts ring in my ears.  **All these moralizations and justifications mean nothing in our world. If you truly love me, you will foreswear that which makes you weak. For my sake, pretty thing; for our sake. Forget the emotions and ideals of your young years, and dwell in this present, with me.** _

_I tremble slightly as a paradigm begins to shift. **Could it be,** I wonder as Salem's eyes meet mine and that stunning, icy blue glitters beneath the moon,  **could it be that this woman sees my weaknesses as strength? Could it be that Marjolaine was...was... wrong?** _

_"Salem," I begin, but she lifts a hand and stills my lips with the gesture._

_"Are you insistent still that you remain on watch?" she asks._

_**I need...I need answers. I need more words from you...I need time to bloody well think!** "I...I am." I lower my head, all words vanished in the presence of her quiet ferocity. _

_"I shall leave you in peace then." she rises to her feet, turns, and leaves the door of conversation closed, for the moment. But she has piqued my curiosity._

_**But I think...I think I have a new mission in mind,**_   _my traitorous body begins to warm as I watch the warden's slow, easy walk back to her tent. **I will draw more words from you, Salem Cousland. I want to hear them...to hear you...you who have flayed me open though you did not know it...you who have made me question all that I once held as truth.**_

* * *

     "We'll dock shortly." Kathyra startled me from the well of memories and tossed me my back and my unstrung bow. Her eyebrows rose and she placed a hand on her hip, studying the tear streaks on my face and the pain in my eyes, a-glitter with an emotion I could not name even if asked. 

     "Are you all right, Leliana?" she asked. "Are you worried?"

     "No." I shook my head and settled my bow across my back. "I am ready for whatever may come."

      _I am strong enough now to do so._

 


	19. Blood Upon the Land

**Salem**

      _Heavens, hells, and angels! It's a fucking slaughter!_

     Firelight illuminated the grisly scene that paraded before my eyes. Darkspawn roved in packs, bearing down on the few soldiers left alive and able to wield a sword. Blood stained the ground, the rain turning it into sick, scarlet mud puddles of infection and taint. Bodies lay strewn on the ground, guts torn open, limbs missing, heads hanging by a flap of skin. My heart sank as I saw the golden griffon embroidered on many a tabard...fallen wardens. 

     I paused before the doors of the keep, taking a moment to assess the situation. The outlying homes of Vigil's Keep were overrun. There was a distinct possibility that the fire, in spite of the rain, would leave the buildings decimated. 

      _Survivor's will be left homeless, penniless, destitute...livelihoods lost and this land has been so raped already. Repairing the damage done will be..._

     A pain so fierce I thought it might split me in two fissured through my skull and I bent double, knowing that this sensation had nothing to do with the blow dealt to the back of my head when the gates of Vigil's Keep had exploded. 

      _Two minds are fighting for control; the liege lord and the warden...a competition for dominance of thought and it is all I can do to quiet one voice and heed the other and..._ I barely lifted my blades in time to deflect the strike from the hurlock that rushed me. His blade skidded against mine with a sparking shriek and I gritted my teeth at the force of the blow. I rammed my other sword up into its jaw, cringing as the blade grated against bone... _and survive._

     "Help!" a voice cried out, breaking further into my tormented mind. "Someone! Please! Help!"

     I raced to the voices position, by the parapet, hearing Mhairi's heavy breathing behind me. A group of genlock's swarmed a single soldier who attempted to hold them at bay with drastic sweeps of his sword that did nothing but keep him alive. And it would not even do that for much longer. 

     My heart burned and I fanned my swords out, swiftly decapitating two of the genlocks. the remaining two turned away from their weaker quarry and growled at me with pure menace, sensing the taint in my blood, the presence of their oldest, fiercest enemy. 

     "Salem, behind you!" Mhairi shouted and I collapsed to my knees as arrows flew overhead, dark-fletched bolts entering the bodies of my enemies and felling them. 

     "Mhairi," I shouted as the soldier who had been beset collapsed from exhaustion, "take those archers down!"

     The young knight rushed off and I dragged myself to my feet, fighting waves of dizziness, stumbling the next few steps and kneeling beside the soldier. I removed his helmet and lowered my ear to his nose, feeling his breath rush across my cheek. I checked him for major injuries, thankful to find only minor ones. 

     His eyes opened, filling with surprise as they lit on me. "Maker bless you, milady." he gasped. "I'm all right. I swear it, but I'm one of the last ones left. Some of us managed to get the wounded to safety." his eyes darted to the parapets of the outer walls. "Most of us fell and I knew I was dead...you look like an angel." His eyelids fluttered. 

     "Stay with me, soldier." I urged him. "Get to the wounded and  _stay_ with them. Those who save allies are equally valuable as those who dispatch enemies."

     "Yes, milady. I give you my word."

     I helped pull him to his feet and when he relinquished my hand I stumbled. The world swerved around me. I could feel blood soaking into my hair and slipping down my neck. I had suffered many head injuries; this one was bad. 

      _No time. No time to worry about that._

     "Mhairi!" I called. 

      _We need to go further in. The Keep has been overrun and no one will be safe until all the darkspawn lie dead._

     "Here, ma'am." the knight rejoined me, limping and making a valiant attempt to wipe the crease of pain from her brows. 

     "Can you continue?" I asked, looking her up and down, noticing the liquid red strip flowing down her muddied armor. 

     "For a thousand leagues, ma'am." she smiled, even though her face was drawn and her eyes glazing over with pain. 

     I nodded and set off further into the keep, barely avoiding the door as it burst open in yet another swarm of enemies. A thrown dagger grazed my left temple, leaving a furrow of serrated flesh. My eye stung as blood ripped into it, clouding my vision worse than the dizzy spells and occasional rippling waves of black oblivion. 

      _Damn it!_

     I crouched low and spun, slashing at the legs of my opponents, attempting to throw them off balance before they struck with a weapon I could not see. Mhairi shouted a battle cry and I heard the satisfying sounds of darkspawn choking on their own tainted blood. My opponents stumbled and I rose, tearing swords through flesh, slamming metal against bone, letting battle-song well up in my blood until I could hear nothing else but the thrumming of my heart in my ears. 

     A wash of heat swept across me and I recognized the scent of mage's fire. I reached up an dpulled Mhairi close to me, holding my right hand before us, hissing as the dragon blood living beneath my skin flared out and cocooned us in white, protective fire. Mhairi's dark eyes stared at me in awe as our enemies were incinerated by a ball of unquenchable flames. Flames that should have burned us as well. 

     "Burn!" beyond the wall of fire, a manic laugh echoed. "Burn down to fucking hell!"

     "Break your spell!" I shouted and the fire choked off, as well as the laughter. 

     A man in mage's robes stood in the center of the room and Mhairi stiffened against me, as though in alarm. I noticed nothing about him that would give me pause, straw-colored hair pulled tightly back, unremarkable green eyes, a face that some would consider handsome. Not until I saw the two dead templars at his feet and the iron manacles around his wrists did I understand the knight's reaction. 

      _Apostate._

     The word hung heavy in the air as the mage sized us up, his mouth slightly open as he saw two survivors emerge from his attack. Most died from being engulfed in mage's fire. Most were not me. 

     "Who...who are you?" Mhairi asked the man, losing our dominance of the situation. 

     "A humble mage, fair lady." he surprised me by performing a theatrical bow. "On a waystation stop before they commit me once more to my final prison for the crime of seeking freedom. Shame, though." he kicked at the templar's bodies with a lack of remorse that chilled my soul and kindled my wrath. "Not much they can do about it now."

     Mhairi's eyes flared against mine and I heard her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken them.  _He killed them. He took advantage of the situation and he killed them._

      _I know,_ I glared at the mage, the glee of freedom in his eyes, the uncertainty of being found out, and the deep sorrow of a man who had lived in captivity.  _I also know the usefulness of any mage, be they Circle, fugitive, or apostate._

     "They can do nothing." I strode forward, asserting control over what could be a volatile situation. "I can."

     True panic lit in his eyes. "Stay here? Fight these...these things? Is that what you're suggesting?"

     "See it in a different light, if you wish." I offered, attempting to gauge whether or not he would be an asset or liability. Mages were often both. 

    "Accompany two beautiful women through trial and dangerous unknowns?" his eyes followed Mhairi's body from head to foot and I sighed as the knight made a noise of indignation and disgust. 

     "Perhaps."

     "Uh...no." he shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry."

     He turned to leave and I stepped forward, grabbing him by the back of his robes and stopping him immediately. "Give me your name." I growled and his eyes widened in what might have been fear. 

     Mages were used to commanding fear, not knowing it themselves. Those without magic had been schooled into avoiding it, fearing it, avoiding it at all costs and calling to the templars for help. I had never been one of those, even before my warden blood. 

     "I'm called Anders." he glared at me. "Now get your hands off of me! I won't be held; I won't be kept!"

     "You will stay here and fight." I hissed, ill-at-ease with the commands that fell from my lips. The mage was a murderer; I knew that much. I could not, in good conscience, let him go; yet I wanted him nowhere near me. 

     "I do not take orders, not anymore." his eyes flashed with dangerous fire and I smiled, wicked and malicious.

     "And I don't burn." it seemed to take a moment for him to comprehend the words; to remember what he had seen. At last, he bowed his head and ceded to a will stronger than his own. "Can you heal, Anders?" I asked. 

     "My specialty." the smug smile returned and I relinquished my grip on his robes. "Just a small cut then?" he asked, his blue-glowing hand pressing against the graze across my temple before I could stop him. 

     I screamed and fell to my knees as the abrasive magic soaked into my blood and  _scorched._ Anders stepped back, shocked, and Mhairi limped to my side. 

     "What in  _hell_ are you doing!?" I shouted, closing my eyes and breathing deep as the world threatened to collapse inward and acid pumped through my veins. 

     " _Healing_ you as you requested." he responded, tone high and indignant. 

     "Her, you blithering  _fool_." I got to my feet and thanked whatever gods there were that his touch had been brief and the spell a minor one. Anything greater and I might have been killed by a potential ally. 

      _Wynne at least had bloody finesse. And she knew...Maker's breath, she knew that healing magic caused its own brand of damage to me. This mage just flings an inordinate amount of magic about for show...free at last to use it as he wishes._

     "Arlessa, I'm fine." Mhairi insisted, stumbling as she backed away from Anders, still very afraid of the mage. 

     "Let him heal you, Mhairi." I ordered. In spite of the pain that was my ancestral curse, the wound on my face had stopped bleeding. "His magic is good...if nothing else."

     "You're welcome." Anders glowered at me, and I knew whatever relationship we would ahve, be it brief or long-term, would be a consistent power-struggle, a fight for dominance. 

      _I will not lose, little mage._ Dark thoughts filtere dinto my mind.  _I may not win, but I will **not** lose. And yes, there is a difference between the two. _


	20. Cold Chill of Fear

**Leliana**

    We walked through the streets of Val Royeaux and I could not keep myself from smiling. The scents of rich and foreign spices filled the air, exotic perfumes from far away lands. Men and women traipsed the streets dressed in the latest fashions, silks and furs and a parade of wealth meant to scorch the eyes and tantalize the senses. 

      _I had forgotten how rich a land Orlais truly is. Wealthy in everything but the caliber of its people. The eyes within those silken dresses, behind those elegant masks, are hollow. They only look, they do not **see.** They are blind to all the pain before them and the poverty of others, not just in other countries, but in their city streets. Ferelden may not have had a treasury so rich...but those I met there, from the villagers of Lothering to the high-ranking nobles...all of them possessed something that those I once considered my countrymen sorely lack. _

     Cassandra and Ren led our party of four through the streets. People parted before them with hushed whispers and glances of awe. It did not surprise me. The Right Hand of the Divine was a very public figure; it was the Left Hand that dwelled in the shadows. However, I could see the glimmer of fear behind the awe in the eyes that gazed on Cassandra Pentaghast. It reminded me of another time, not so very long ago. 

     I felt sorrow as I remembered Salem's homecoming.  _Every soul inhabiting the city lined the streets, their eyes full of love; their hearts overflowing with joy. And how Salem bowed to her people in equal respect, admiration, and love...it seems as though the Right Hand is feared, though I doubt Cassandra would even realize it were she to be told. She is content with the awe that precedes the apprehension._

     We walked the cobblestone streets towards the tower that hovered above us like an all-seeing eye. The seat of Divine power, where those supposedly imbued with the Maker's power and given his voice wrote laws and edicts and gloried in their own self-righteousness. 

     Doubt prickled my soul and sweat slid down my back. I realized once again that I could simply be here to face the Divine's judgement. After all, I had ignored her summons and married the woman she considered to be an abomination. I did not know if Beatrix could find it within herself to show amnesty to me after such grievous offenses, royal pardon notwithstanding. 

     We reached the gates and the templar guards immediately opened them, one look from Cassandra's cinnamon eyes inspiring them to alacrity. We moved through the gates and Cassandra turned to me. 

     "Surrender your weapons." she ordered, saving a disparaging glance for my bow. 

     I grasped the handle of my weapon, afraid to part with it, for fear of losing it. It had been given to me in love and was a reminder of joy and the name I now carried, an untainted legacy that had welcomed someone whose past was as sordid as mine. 

     "It will be all right." Kathyra assured me, resting a hand on my shoulder, ignoring the glare of blatant disapproval from Cassandra. "They will be kept safe." she turned her fierce green eyes to the Right Hand, as if daring her to disagree. "You have my word."

      _I still do not know if that word means anything. It is not Salem's word...therefore, I cannot trust it. However,_ I sighed,  _I should have expected to be disarmed. Royal pardon notwithstanding, I once was a wanted criminal in this very city._

     "Very well." I took my bow from off of my back and handed it to the waiting templar guard. Cassandra smiled in approval, but continued to gaze at me in expectation. 

     I frowned and reached into my boots, retrieving the two knives I had there. I turned them over and glared at the Right Hand, keeping the blades in my wrist sheathes and the blade at the small of my back concealed. Cassandra nodded, mollified, supposedly ignorant of the amount of weapons that could be concealed on the human body. 

     Two young women dressed in Chantry robes, much the same as I once wore, approached us and Cassandra beckoned them closer. "You will be turned over to the sisters." she informed me. "I must meet with the Divine and consult with the rest of the Seekers. Ren, Kathyra, with me."

     The mute turned to follow, but Kathyra remained by my side. "Are you serious, Cass?" she asked. "You'd leave her alone in a place full of strangers and go your merry way?"

     "She is no longer our concern." Cassandra hissed, displeased with Kathyra's challenge. "Our oders, simply given, were to fetch, carry, and deliver. Those orders have been complied with."

     "You heartless wretch." Kathyra shook her head, surprising me as she challenged the obviously more powerful woman. "We took her from her home. You threatened her wife. Leliana has been kind enough to not be the least bit of trouble. Call your assembly of Seekers, Cassandra. I will be absent."

     "Kathyra!" Cassandra barked. "I gave you an order!"

     "I seem to remember you doing the same to a certain Ferelden noblewoman." Kathyra taunted. "It did not work out so well, did it?" she cast her eyes to the still-visible bruise on Cassandra's jaw. "Perhaps you should consider letting things be, rather than attempting to lord over everything."

     "Stop speaking drabble, Kathyra. You're no Salem Cousland." Cassandra mocked, lifting her chin, angling her nose so that she could look down it. 

     "I am many things, Cassandra." Kathyra countered. "Many things besides your minder and your physician. I am quite certain Most Holy wishes to speak to Lady Cousland and find that she has not been caused any unnecessary distress by  _your_ actions."

     "Fine." Cassandra seethed, looking to the sky, ascertaining the sun's position. "We are short on time and I will not press this argument here. But I will see you later, Kathyra, in private. Report to my chambers when you are through playing the humanitarian."

     Kathyra nodded and Cassandra stalked away. I pinched the bridge of my nose as a headache began to pound behind my skull. I did not want to be here. I did not understand why this was happening. But I knew that Kathyra had taken a risk for me, a risk she should not have. 

     "You should not have done that." I told Kathyra as she took my elbow and led me through the gleaming walkways, followed by the two Chantry sisters. "Maker knows I have earned Cassandra's ire more than once; you should not do the same to yourself."

     "Cassandra cannot touch me, and she is  _well_ aware of that." Kathyra tossed me a roguish grin. "Most Holy appointed me to be in Cassandra's service, but excluded me from Cass' authority. Checks and balances, you see. Cassandra might bluff and bluster, but at the end of the day, I answer to the Divine, not to her."

     I shook my head, trying to orient myself again in the land of intrigues and double-dealings. The Game played by so many...I no longer wanted to play it. I wanted an honest life. 

     "Can you tell me now why someone as hot-headed and ill-suited to the post of the Right Hand was given that responsibility." I wondered. 

     Kathyra stopped and pulled me aside, gesturing through the arched windows to the main tower, where the Divine sat upon the Sunburst throne. 

     "Nine years ago, when Cassandra was a young Seeker, one of the Grand Clerics aligned with a rogue group of blood mages to assassinate Divine Beatrix and take the Chantry by force. The High Seeker was murdered, and the Divine ignorant of the betrayal of one of her closest confidantes. Cassandra defied orders and sought out the heart of the conspiracy, but she discovered the truth almost too late. The blood mages harnessed dragons to attack the High Tower...Cassandra brought them down and, in so doing, earned herself the position of Beatrix's Right Hand."

     "In spite of her youth, she was given such power." I mused, staring at the black scoring on the High Tower, for time did not erase the touch of dragons. "And now she is as she is, darkened by responsibility she was perhaps ill-equipped to handle at the time."

     "Her loyalty is unquestionable, and her heart  _is_ good, simply untutored." Kathyra's eyes glinted like green steel. "Orlais and Ferelden both have their own heroes for their own times. Both were young. Both inexperienced. But both did what was required of them."

      _Young and inexperienced...inexperienced, perhaps, but Salem was never young. And she never let her title of position to go her head. Never once did she command in pride. Never once did she demean another because they were beneath her station._

     "Our heroes are as different from each other as night and day." I spoke as we continued towards wherever Kathyra led me. 

     The Seeker smiled. "Indeed they are. I approved of your warden the instant I set eyes upon her. It does not surprise me that she bested Cassandra. I do not care if the Right Hand  _has_ slain dragons."

     "She is not the only one." equal parts grief and pride swelled within my heart. 

     "I have heard the tales." Kathyra nodded as the two sisters moved in front of us to open a door. Steam rose from the baths and the physician beside me smiled. 

     "Your meeting with Most Holy will not be until tomorrow." one of the sisters spoke. "Until then, we were instructed to show you every kindness and amenity. After you are finished bathing, you will be escorted to your rooms, where a meal will be waiting for you and..."

     "Where I am to remain, under guard, until summoned." I finished, sighing. "I traded my freedom for a prison."

     Kathyra led me into the baths, a frown creasing her brows. "Were you truly free, Leliana?" she asked, looking as though she desired an answer for deeper reasons than to further our acquaintance. 

     "I was." I answered from behind a changing curtain. "I was free from more than chains, more than nightmares...Salem liberated Ferelden and Thedas from a Blight, and she liberated me from my past."

     "And such a colorful past it was." I heard a smile in Kathyra's voice and a tickle of fear crawled down my spine. 

      _That was no question. She has knowledge of me...and not from any dossier that might have been compiled by the Seekers. It is personal, **intimate**  knowledge. Yet...she warned me to be careful. Could it be that she was warning me then...warning me away from  **her?** **  
**_


	21. Old Friends in New Hells

**Salem**

    I watched with a wary eyes as Anders, my newest recruit in this rag-tag battle party, used his magic to mend the tear in Mhairi's leg. The knight bit her lips, clearly expecting the mage's spell to cause her the same level of pain as it had me. She seemed shocked as relief flooded her and her brows creased in confusion as her eyes lit on me, asking questions that I would not answer aloud. 

      _It is not the mage at fault, Mhairi. It is my own weakness...the weakness stamped in all Cousland blood. We love with as much ferocity as we fight. We know nothing else. We give everything...everything. Maker...I wish my comrades were here. Morrigan with her acerbic commentary, Alistair with his smiles and ever-ready sword, Zevran with his eye for traps and wicked blades, Wynne's sagacity...Leliana. **Leliana!**_

     The sudden anguish in my heart startled me and I inwardly cringed as I realized that it would never leave. So long as she remained away from me, I would no longer be whole. I had sworn that in my marriage vows. That we were one. Now, we were no longer one. We had been severed by the hand of a woman who called herself Divine. The Maker I served would never have allowed this. The Maker I served honored the vows of love. 

      _Forgive yourself,_ Leliana had begged me. I could not. There was no forgiveness for me in this world. Even though I had given everything. I did not belong in the land of the living, and the Maker and his world seemed adamant that I would realize it in painful shades of clarity. 

     Anders finished his ministrations, going so far as to tear off the sleeve of his robe and bind Mhairi's leg with it. He rose to his feet, dusting of his hands as though he had performed some great and taxing feat. 

     "No charge, milady." he said, every inch the gallant gentlemen. "Unless, of course, you would like to grace me with a kiss. I should consider myself compensated forever more."

     "Oh, rot in hell, you pompous ass." Mhairi groused and I stifled a chuckle, remembering Alistair and Morrigan's ever-fractious relationship. 

     "Are the two of you  _quite_ ready?" I asked, surprised by my own impatience, my need to return to the battlefield. 

      _This is not who I am...eager to rush into battle and conflict. Must be the head injury...no. I cannot even lie to myself. I am losing who I am. I am becoming who I must be and my soul has no tether to bring it back to earth. I am adrift in a world that requires a killer. **That**...that is something I can be._  

      _Leliana, forgive me. I do not think I can be the woman that you fell in love with for much longer. Already I feel her slipping away. I feel her slipping and I do not know her well enough to keep her here. Somehow...I think it will be all right. Your vision saw that I am meant to die. And I believe it. With all that is within me, I believe it. Perhaps I even subconsciously seek to bring it about._

_You are not mine, Leliana. Not any longer, because you have been stolen. But I will always be yours._

     "I'm ready, willing, and able, ma'am." Mhairi answered, the consummate soldier. 

     Anders offered the barest shrug of his shoulders. I wanted to break his nose in hopes that it would destroy his apathy. 

     "Through to the inner keep then." I ordered, leading the way, slightly unnerved by the mage's presence at my back. 

     I hoped that my resistance to any sort of fire would dissuade him from treating me as he had his templar guards. I also hoped that he had not been keen enough to realize that he could cripple me with a healing spell, should he so desire. 

      _Those whom I do not trust have no need of such knowledge. Perchance I will find a healer I can depend on...though Wynne will be forever irreplaceable._

     "Damn it!" Mhairi cursed, staring at the closed portcullis inside the outer ring of the Keep's inner defenses. "It's locked from the inside, ma'am." she informed me. "Much like the outer gates."

     "We can hope that the opening of this gate will not be quite so spectacular." I quipped, feeling my blood begin to burn as darkspawn surged nearer. 

     "I could burn it." Anders smiled an ingratiating smile, attempting to prove himselves useful, a desperate measure of a man who wanted to live, and a rogue who would take any opportunity to free himself from his circumstances. 

     "The bars are metal." Mhairi sagged in defeat. "Built to be a prison and a fortress and Maker knows what else. It won't burn."

     "Well, shit." Anders ran a hand through his hair and sent a blast of magic through the door as the darkspawn entered the room. The bolt of lightning felled a genlock, and the stench of charred flesh made my stomach churn. 

     I did nothing as the darkspawn thrust their arms through the the holes in the portcullis, seeking out the foes they could not reach. What could I do? Unless one of the beasts had the capability of opening it, we were at an impasse. 

     A flash of movement caught my eye and I turned, watching as a dwarf crept into the room behind the darkspawn and struck a flint. The spark crawled across the floor and streaked towards several piles of strange, glistening powder on the floor. 

      _Heavens, hells, and angels!_

     "Down!" I screamed for the second time in the span of a candlemark, throwing myself to the floor as the portcullis exploded in a shriek of twisted, wrangled metal. 

     The darkspawn roared their anguish as the blast dismembered them. In the distance, through the ringing in my ears, I heard the laughter of the dwarf.

      _Whoever you are,_ my thoughts gasped as I stared at the chunks of tainted flesh,  _bless you beyond measure._

     "Report!" I barked, praying that I had not lost either of my allies. 

     Regardless of the "Hero of Ferelden" moniker, I knew that I could not win this battle on my own.  _And it **must** be won,_ I staggered to my feet and struggled to breathe through the dust filled with particulated metal and stone,  _before I die. I will see to that, at least. These people must be protected._

"You fuckmothering nug-humper!" I recognized a shout through the settling debris and rushed towards it, disregarding the pulped flesh that squished beneath the soles of my boots. 

     A red-haired, heavily moustached dwarf stood on a riser, cleaving a hurlock in two with his axe. The enemy fell and the dwarf turned to me, grinning like a fool. He caught my eyes and smiled. 

     "Sod it all." Oghren groused. "Here to steal my body count, eh, warden?"

     "Someone has to give you a run for your money." I smiled as the days-old scent of ale assaulted me, for it was good to see a friendly, trusted face. 

     "Meh." Oghren swung over the railing with all the grace of a three-legged goat, but he gained his feet and walked up to me, thumping my chestplate with a flick of his fingers. "Rather give that red-head o' yours a run for  _her_ money. Whaddaya say, warden," he shot me a lascivious smile, "seein' as she ain't here, whaddaya say 'bout a man in yer life?"

     "You revolting, drunken sot." Mhairi pressed her hand to her nose and frowned at the dwarf. Anders nodded his agreement with the knight's assessment. 

     "It's good to see you again, Oghren." I smiled as I kicked him in the shin, an answer to his ridiculous proposition.

     "I find the truth of that statement highly suspect." Anders glanced around, seeing the destruction that Oghren's axe had wrought, swallowing hard as he realized he may have taunted a warrior beyond his depth to defeat, as dwarves were notoriously resistant to magic. 

     "Who's the pretty boy?" Oghren ignored the mage and Anders breathed a sigh of relief. 

     "Fugitive mage." I grinned, then nodded my head in Mhairi's direction. "Denerim knight. What in the Maker's name are you doing here, Oghren?"

     "Yer sodding fault." the dwarf pulled his ubiquitous flask from his belt and took a quaff. "You got me to used to seein' the sky an' the Deep Roads got too bloody quiet. Thought I'd join up with yer warden outfit, see what all the fuss was about."

     The snarls of darkspawn grew louder, the buzzing in my brain more intense, and the world twisted a little bit as shadowed forms appeared in the near hallway. I clapped a hand on Oghren's shoulder, relieved that someone not a stranger now stood at my side. 

     "Welcome to hell, my friend."


	22. Betrayal in the Blood

**Leliana**

    I shed my travel-weary, sweat-stained clothes behind the changing curtain, basking in the steamy warmth of the baths, listening for any noises that might be made by spies positioned to overhear the conversation certain to pass between me and Kathyra. I had not played the game for years, but when the penalty for failure is death, I did not forget the rules. Nothing greeted my ears and I winced as I slid into the heated water, letting the warmth soothe the muscles worn from riding and taut from sea-travel. 

      Kathyra emerged from behind another changing curtain and I averted my gaze, but not before noticing her generous curves and ample breasts. 

      _She is so different from Salem. My warden is all angles and planes, sharp edges and muscled strength. Oh...dear Maker...her scarred hands on my skin, warm breath in my ear...and the way she speaks...like an angel displaced from the Maker's side. Her fervent promises, passionate declarations...I miss you, Salem. I miss you so much that I can scarce keep a grip on sanity, and I so desperately need my mind. Forgive me if I quiet the voices that scream for lack of you. Forgive me if I forget...even for a short time._

    "Are you unfamiliar with the intricacies of the female form?" Kathyra asked and I blushed a deep shade of red. My expression generated a laugh as the Seeker slid into the hot water of the baths. 

     "Do not tell me I have made you shy?" she inquired after I gave no response, her concern evident in her tone. "Certainly the musician who could bare her voice for the exalted courts of Orlais does not blush at the sight of my nakedness and turn away from the gaze of my eyes."

     The question chafed at me for some reason and I bit my lip. "I am a married woman." I ventured. "Immodesty is unbecoming, no?"

     Trusting the steam and the water to conceal me, I dared to look into Kathyra's green eyes, finding there an inexplicable look of...hurt?"

     "There is no immodesty here." Kathyra kept her eyes on mine, wisely refraining from letting them venture lower. "I am simply here in my capacity as...well...as a jailer, I suppose you might say. This is not a seduction, Leliana."

     Her eyes were so  _honest!_ It infuriated me that I could not see past what I was certain was a mask. Perhaps it  _had_ been too long since I had played the Game. Perhaps I had lost my skill at reading the subtleties of tone, inflection, and minute expressions of the face and eyes. I did not know this woman, who she was or what she intended, and that troubled me to no end. 

     I took a step back, letting the water ripple between us like a shield. "Then what it is?" I asked. "You fling my first name about as though I gave it to you in friendship. You are the one voice of kindness and reason that I have encountered. You defied your superior to remain beside me and now we are here,  _naked_ no less, and you are shifting shapes. I am not a child, Kathyra. The Divine wants something of me, though I am not certain of what it is, and what better way than to inveigle me and entrap my heart? You telling me this is no seduction makes it seem all the more so."

     Kathyra nodded her head, as though satisfied with something. "I told Cassandra  _and_ Most Holy that this would not work." she tucked her hair behind her ears and sighed. "But you have seen how foolish the Right Hand can be."

     "That will  _not_ suffice." I hardened my voice. "You can no longer unite with me against a common enemy, Kathyra. Not now that we have reached Val Royeaux and the truth will be revealed, eventually. I  _want_ to trust you, and it is for  _that_ very reason that I do not trust you. That, and the proof that you have just presented. If you can convince me that my interpretation of events and circumstances is correct, then I will ignore the larger endgame. I remain un-persuaded."

     Kathyra smiled and it seemed so  _familiar_. Self-satisfied. Content. Like a scheming cat... _it is like my own smile...in the life before..._ realization snapped into place and my body reacted, fitting into a defensive posture, glaring at Kathyra.  _She is not as she seems. While she may be a Seeker now, I would wager my blood that she did not begin her life in service to the Chantry._ _  
_

"You are quite gifted." Kathyra relaxed against the edge o the bath, looking the very picture of insouciance. "And you can be at ease, Le...Lady Cousland. I gave my word that you would come to no harm. I hope that you can trust that word."

     "Unfortunately, I cannot." I replied, examining her body for any sign of tensed muscles, any indication that she might be preparing to strike. I found nothing. 

     Kathyra leaned back and exhaled, the perfect picture of relaxation. "I am beginning to think that I could give you my beating heart and you would still not believe in the purity of my intentions. Damn her into hell."

     Kathyra submerged herself beneath the water, baiting me, knowing that when she re-emerged, the first words on my lips would be a question. These were not smooth plays, but I did recognize the maneuvering of the Game when I witnessed it. I did not want to do this. I had wanted to be free of the vagaries of the Game; able to live an honest life. 

      _If you wish to earn my trust, Kathyra,_ I smiled as I began to wash with rare, costly perfumed soap, removing the grime of travel and the salt spray of the ocean,  _you must do it in the same manner as the one who won me entirely. You will not make me seek out the truth. You will offer it, expecting nothing in return._

     Kathyra burst through the surface with a gasp, flinging her drenched hair over her shoulder and rubbing the grit from her eyes. She looked at me, expecting something. I, however, ignored her and continued to wash my hair. I had let it grow out since the Blight ended, and it now reached just below my shoulders. I had considered having it cut once more, but Salem begged that I leave it long and I...I wanted to be beautiful for her. 

     "I am glad to know that I am not alone." Kathyra sighed, breaking the tenuous silence. "I despise the Game. I told Cassandra and Divine Beatrix that I had lost my taste and talent for it. It engendered no love towards them from me when they insisted that I continue to play it."

     She wore no mask over her eyes now. All they communicated was emotional exhaustion and conflict of conscience, now that she had allowed her true nature to show through. I could sense the honesty in her words, and knew that, from here, there would be no more manipulative words between us. 

      _Salem,_ my thoughts whispered back to my warde,  _what I would not give to have your singular gift...the ability to ascertain the measure of a soul with a glance. The ability to know the best road to venture down. The insight that restored all of Ferelden...if I possessed that gift, I would not even have to question Kathyra. I would know._

     "So you were attempting to engage me in the Game." I relaxed against the wall, trusting my instincts and what they revealed. "Cassandra's brusque nature and your kindness were a ruse to convince me to trust  _you_...perhaps even become enamored and indulge in a deeper connection?"

     Kathyra laughed, soft. "No." she shook her head. "Cassandra played no part in it that was not natural to her. As I see it, Cassandra Pentaghast became the Right Hand too soon, but to say that is heresy against Most Holy. However, Beatrix is a hard woman, and Cassandra has been molded by that hardness for almost the entirety of her malleable years. She leads as Beatrix leads, expecting unquestioned orders, absolute obedience, and guided by the belief that she is correct in all matters. It makes her look the imperious, entitled bitch, but she is building herself according to the standard set for her."

     I nodded as I took in the information, but I bristled upon realizing that the Divine perhaps had a far more nefarious intent than to execute me. Her plan for me ran deeper. I could feel the shackles and chains already winding around my body. My time in Ferelden seemed as though a pleasant dream...I had been caught again in the silken web of Orlesian machinations. Dragged back into the  _infernal_ Game against my will. 

     "I see." I replied. "But where does this lead us, Kathyra? I will hazard calling Her Holiness a fool for even making the attempt to snare my heart away, and I take umbrage to here belief that my affections are fluid and fickle enough to damaged by distance."

     "I know." Kathyra sounded contrite. "I knew that their plan had no hope the instant your warden drew blades against the Right Hand of the Divine. A love that fierce...that blatant...is so very hard to find, and harder to seize. For one who has been what you have been, who has led the life you have, to have been given something so pure and unadulterated...if it were mine, Lady Cousland, I do not think I would have been able to let go."

     Her words, words that rang with pure truth, sent sharp spikes of agony through my heart. The water surrounding me seemed cold as I shivered from a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. Salem had been willing to defy the highest power in Thedas...for me. She had been willing to sunder her honor, break her word, and turn her back on all that she held dear for me. I had chosen...I had chosen a difficult way, yes, but there had been greater ease in capitulating than in resisting. 

      _Did I fail you, Salem?_ I questioned myself.  _Did I fail your love for me by choosing to come here? Did I wound you terribly? When we meet again, will you forgive me?_

     "You blame me, then?" I asked, sensing Kathyra's vulnerability, her longing, her uncertainty.

     When she had spoken of Salem's love, her words had been hollow, the sort of hollow created by a bitter wound. At this moment, I needed to exploit that wound. Though it went against everything I had become, it was  _imperative_ that I knew the truth of the physician Kathyra. 

     "You were faced with an impossible choice." Kathyra admitted, hanging her head in shame. "If the stories of Salem Cousland are true, she would have defied even the Divine for you, become an outlaw, and forsaken her good name. But you loved her too much to see that fate for her. You made the only choice you thought you could. Am I anywhere near the realm of truth?"

    "Ascertain that for yourself." I said, unwilling to cede any ground, even though her green eyes were filled with sadness. 

     "I am right then." she scoffed, but she mocked herself, not me. "I apologize for my part in this ruse, Lady Cousland. We should have been better than to treat you this way."

     "I will grant my forgiveness if you will but tell me one thing more." I smiled, ready to spring my own trap. 

     "Name it."

     "When speaking of your distrust, you said ' _damn her into hell'_. Tell me, whom did you reference in that curse?" I questioned. 

     Kathyra's shoulders slumped and her eyes faded backwards into nightmares. "I referenced my little sister." she whispered, her breath visible even in the steamy air. 

     "Give me a  _name_ , Kathyra." I pushed, needing to know if I could find another weakness, something else to exploit, to use, to save myself should I be jeopardized. 

     The Seeker's green eyes flashed to mine with a horrid, memorable spark. "My little sister," she spoke again, her voice heavy, "is Marjolaine."


	23. Memories Inked with Blood

**Salem**

    My head snapped to the side and I tasted blood in my mouth. I recoiled from the blow and the world tilted. I fell to the ground and rolled, my ears assaulted as a sword blade screeched across my armor. I clawed my way to my feet and swiped out at the darkspawn. My swords clashed against the wall and another blow from behind shoved me against the walls of the crowded hall. 

     A massive axe swept downward and the darkspawn who threatened my life fell to the floor with a guttural cry. Oghren sauntered up, belched, then smirked at me from behind his moustaches. 

     "Lost your touch, eh warden?" he smiled in friendly challenge. "Or can't you fight without a hole in yer gut?"

     "Damn you dwarf." I growled as I regained my feet, stumbling even though the wall supported me. 

     Oghren snorted. "Truth is yer a better fighter with yer life on th' line. It ain't rare."

     "This is not the time to assess my motivation for fighting." I pushed off of the wall and grabbed one of his braided moustaches, pullin ghim with me as we trudged further into the hallway. 

     "Yer welcome, by the way." Oghren groused. "Savin' yer life an' all that."

     "Yes, I'm very grateful." I hissed, glancing over my shoulder to see my other two companions. They were far enough behind that they were unable to hear the conversation. 

      _No peace for me in the waking world. There is one thing keeping me here, keeping me breathing. The sole reason that I walked out of heaven. You promised to return to me, Leliana. I am holding you to that word. As I will hold myself to my word. I will not die. For your sake..._

* * *

      _"Fucking hounds from hell!" I watch the creatures dash into the undergrowth of the Brecilian Forest "Give chase!"_

_Burrow lets loose a howl and tears off into the woods, chasing the scent of the werewolves. Alistair begins to follow, Morrigan at his heels. I take a step forward and the world spins a little._

_"Salem, stop!" there is no mistaking the authority in the voice, even though it belongs to one who has willingly submitted to my command._

_Alistair and the witch stop when they hear the words, but Burrow does not return._

_"If we do not follow, we will lose them." Morrigan huffs her tone indicating her severe displeasure._

_I know that she is right, but I cannot go forward. My body betrays me; stays rooted to the ground, waiting for the voice that cried the order to speak again. A blur of red hair moves into my vision and Leliana looks into my eyes, that breathtaking blue sparkling with worry and concern. I find myself falling deeper into that gaze until she cradles my right hand between both of hers and lifts my arm._

_I drop the sword I hold as pain shoots through my body. Leliana hisses in sympathy and exposes the torn and blood-slick mess of my leather bracer, an armor not strong enough to protect from a werewolves claws._

_"You're bleeding very badly." Leliana attempts to speak with clinical detachment, but there is a quaver in her words that I do not understand. "You need to go to Wynne."_

_**No.** I cringe inside at the thought of submitting to the healer-mage who has agreed to accompahy us; at the thought of revealing my weakness to healing magic to the other.  **It is too soon. I cannot afford to let them...any of them...see how weak I truly am.**_  

_"I'm all right." I assure the bard, my heart beating uncomfortably faster. "A simple bandage should do."_

_I am incredibly aware of her nearness and entranced by the way the light glimmers in her hair. The skin she is touching aches...not with pain. Her fingers are deft as they unbuckle the bracer, revealing the torn skin and thick rivers of blood._

_"These wounds are too deep." Leliana shakes her head and her brows crease in a frown. "You will simply keep bleeding through the bandages, no matter how much pressure is applied. We must get back to the Dalish camp, to Wynne."_

_The senior enchanter had volunteered to stay behind and aid the Dalish healers with their hunters who were infected. While the Keeper, Zathrian, had protested vehemently, the exhausted healers had been grateful for any sort of assistance._

_A rustling sound diverts our attention and Burrow emerges from a thicket, a confused expression on his canine features. Morrigan throws up her hands in frustration._

_"Now your blighted hound has lost the scent." she bites. "'Tis troublesome enough in this forest without staggering blindly through thorns. Perhaps if the Chantry tart had sealed her lips..."_

_"Don't speak of Leliana that way!" Alistair takes up Leliana's defense, but the bard herself does nothing but purse her lips and pull a roll of bandaging from her belt pouch._

_I numb my ears to the ubiquitous arguing that arises between the witch and my warden brother, concentrating on Leliana's feather-light touch as she begins to bandage the wounds._

_"Am I hurting you?" she asks, and for some reason the whispered words ring louder in my ears than Alistair an Morrigan flinging insults at the top of their lungs._

_"No." I idly wonder what her tentative, ghosting touch would feel like elsewhere, biting my lip as she knots the bandage and crimson blood immediately soaks it through. "Are you finished?"_

_She nods, but does not back away and I feel the need to stand closer to her. Instead, I withdraw and set my eyes in the direction the werewolves had fled. I kneel down and take up my fallen sword. A leather boot crashes down on the blade, successfully stopping me._

_"Salem," my name is stern from her lips, but the next word is not, "please."_

_"I'm all right, Leliana." I assure her, rising to my feet once more, stumbling slightly as I begin to feel lightheaded._

_She sighs in a frustration that I do not understand, for she has no reason to be irritated with me. We are but friends, nothing more, but she has never shown this concern to Alistair, Morrigan, or Zevran when they are injured._

_"I am not all right." she huffs, insinuating her body alongside mine as I begin to tip forward again._

_I gasp as one arm wraps about my waist and her hand draws my uninjured arm across her shoulders. The warmth I feel from her is staggering and I find myself paralyzed by her nearness._

_"What?" I ask her, uncertain of what she meant by her words._

_She leaves Alistair and Morrigan to their bickering, saying nothing as she begins to guide me back towards the Dalish encampment._

_"I am not all right, Salem." she states when we are out of earshot of the others, and she looks to me with eyes that have changed. There is a strange...hope?...in them. "I care for you." I lift an eyebrow and the bard clears her throat. "As...as our leader and...and a companion and...and...and as a friend."_

_My heart burns in my chest and my throat tightens. **I have been so reticent this entire time, yet she still treats me with nothing but kindness. She has shared her past and alleviated this tiresome journey with music and laughter...now she cares for my body, defying my wishes and orders without fear. All others trust me at my word but she...this woman sees through to the truth. I have to know or I will torment myself into distraction with wondering.**_

_"Only as those things?" I ask, stopping and gazing direct into her ravishing blue eyes._

_She bites her lip and turns from my stare, but the arm around my waist clutches me tighter. "I do not know." she breathes. "It would be...quite dangerous, Lady Cousland," she hides behind the formality of my title. "You rarely speak, you do not sleep, and you've no concern for your own injuries."_

_**You say these things, but you did not deny that there might be more between us than camaraderie.** I smile inside my mind at my miniscule triumph.  **  
**_

_"And?" I allow the smile in my mind to grace my lips, and the light in Leliana's eyes at the sight of it is arresting._

_"Remedy these things, and we shall see." her own smile is coy, her eyes shielded by that glorious red-gold hair._

_**Smile at me in that manner again, and you shall find an entirely new woman before you. I believe I am standing at the edge of quite a dangerous precipice, Leliana. I am standing strong against everything else, the buffeting winds and blistering burdens...I want to fall. I will fall...if only you will be there to catch me.**_

_There are but three words in my thoughts, but three words that I can speak. I hope that they can convey the true depth of my heart, my newfound resolve, my wish above all other dreaming._

_**Understand me, Leliana...please.**_

_"As you say."_

* * *

     "Lady Cousland!" Mhairi's shrill shriek drags me backwards into hell. "Lady Cousland, come quickly!  _Please!"_ _  
_

 


	24. A Sister's Sin

**Leliana**

    I backed against the side of the bath and the chill of the tiles felt warm against my skin, so cold had I become at Kathyra's revelation. I understood now the smile that I had seen, the smile that had reminded me of myself... _because I learned such an expression from Marjolaine._ _Did Marjolaine perhaps learn that expression from her elder sister? Maker's breath, what am I embroiled in._

     Kathyra remained where she was, still and unmoving, not triggering my instincts...instincts that she must have possessed as well. She hung her head, again seeming ashamed. 

     "You belong to the Chantry, Leliana. You cannot run, and I apologize for that, as I know it is your desire in this moment."

      _I do not know what to do,_ I realized at last, the frantic beat of my heart increasing yet further as my own inadequazy poured over me in a sickening wave.  _Maker, help me. I do not know what to do or waht to say or... **anything!** Salem...I need you and you are not here. Give me something, my love. Lend me your gift. Always you have been able to speak what was needed at the exact moment warranted. Give me that now, please, give me that gift now. _

     "My inability to act on my desires is no fault of yours." the word spilled out in a calming, comforting tone...not my words...they were Salem's. They were her wisdom spoken in her tones with her insane, inhuman composure. 

     Every bardic trait within me was  _screaming_ to remove the threat or to run as far away as possible. But if Kathyra possessed even the smallest measure of Marjolaine's talents, I was outmatched in every way. I had always been one step behind my bardmaster, and she had preferred it that way. She said I had not the ingeniuity to best her...I had believed, but she had been wrong. I did have that. But I had loved her, and my love for her had blinded me. 

     I breathed deep and relaxed my tense muscles, wishing to put Kathyra at ease. I needed answers, and I would not gain them through threats. Once again, I had been outmaneuvered, and nothing from my past training could be of use to me. She would know all the tricks, the deceptions, the subtleties meant to inveigle and entrap. 

      _That which I have learned in my new life, however...trust, acceptance, peace...these I can use. For, as I learned from Salem, the truth is a far sharper sword than any web of deceit could ever be; love more powerful than fear._

     I looked to Kathyra, waiting for a response. 

     "I did not expect you to say that." she spoke, low, voice hoarse with regret.  "I..."

     "You spoke of deeper things than wresting me from Highever when you apologized for your first and greatest offense." I extended an olivve branch, a chance for her to impart what must have been a painful confession. 

     "I...I did." she assented. "Maker, what must you think of me? You have seen betrayal in every shadow and now...now..."

     "Now there is a chance to clear the air between us and discover who we were, are, and what we might be to each other." one again foreign words fell from my lips and an iron control of emotion surged through my veins. A control that Marjolaine had tried and failed to hammer into me with threats, bribes, and seduction. A control that Salem had imparted through her simple, terrifying love. "Tell me a story, Kathyra. You owe me that much."

     "We were young." Kathyra began, looking into my eyes with a soft surprise at being allowed to tell her story. "So very, very young. You have known the dark streets of Val Royeaux, the dangers, the small things that happen that echo, far into the future. Our parents were taken from us with a senseless act of violence. I watched them cut down, and shielded Marjolaine's eyes...trying to spare her the pain. From there we attempted to live a life on the street; I tried to care for Marjolaine and myself...I did not know. I had no knowledge of what to do; I was young and helpless...I was  _happy_ when he found us; when he offered us a home, when he broke the fever that would have killed my little sister. I cared about nothing, save that Marjolaine and I would have a place out of the elements and food on our table. I would have paid any price.  _Any_ price." her shoulders shuddered as from a sudden chill and I could not resist the rush of empathy I felt for her, for her words were honest; her story was true. 

      _This woman before me is...not Marjolaine,_ my fears calmed as I watched true tears spill from the green eyes that haunted my nightmares.  _They share the same eyes and blood but...but they are not the same._

     "You needn't continue." I told her, stunned as Salem's mercy revealed itself in me. 

     The Nightingale would have listened with a self-satisfied smirk on her face as secrets were revealed. The Chantry sister would have listened with empathy and without judgment, imparting wisdom and concern as needed. But Leliana...the woman I had come to know as my  _self..._ understood the sacredness of pain. The need to conceal it and reveal it only under love's tender countenance. 

     Kathyra lifted her eyes to mine and they were rimmed red with sorrow and tears. "You are perhaps the kindest woman in Thedas." her voice trembled. "You can see my pain and will let me rest from it, but I will not, for you spoke true when you said I owe you this tale. So I am grateful for your kindness, but I ask you now to listen."

     "As you say."

      _When did this happen!?_ I questioned myself in alarm.  _Always before I could twist and cajole with words but this...this...Salem, you have given me so much more than ever I realized._

     "Our savior's name was Leron." Kathyra continued her tale. "A true predator, if ever one existed. He was, we first learned, a bard...but that was just the beginning of his talents."

      "He was a mage." the source of her hatred of magic became transparent to me and I spoke my thoughts aloud. 

     Kathyra nodded. "Quite a skilled one at that." she confirmed my suspicions. "His bardic training was enough to control his magic, so much so that templars never suspected. And we dared not tell. He saw Marjolaine's potential, and her beauty, and he was so kind to us. Under his tutelage, we learned music, speech, dance, court etiquette...I thought the Maker himself had lifted us from our plight until...a few years later."

     Kathyra wrapped her arms about herself in a protective posture and I commiserated with her desperation. Sharing this information with someone who could be considered no more than an acquaintance would be more than difficult, and so very uncomfortable. 

      _Although...although there was a time in our lives when Kathyra might have called me her sister. For, in the life before, had Marjolaine asked me the same question as Salem, I would have also said yes. It would be a different ring around my finger...a chain of fear and inadequacy, not of love and strength. I could have led so different a life._

"What happened then?" I asked, gentle, hoping to make it easier for Kathyra to continue her story. 

     "Leron was an exceptional mage." she whispered. "He taught himself how to use his magic to alter the minds of others. His great skill lay in the manipulation of memories and the sublimation of inhibitions. He could put someone into a fugue state, and make them carry out his orders...later they would wake with no memory of what they had done. But he was an apostate, and with no safe outlet for his magic, he chose to practice and perfect his spellcraft on...well...me. there is so much from that time that I do not remember." her eyes screamed with fierce, unbridled anguish. "Years of my life have been destroyed. So many times I would come-to in foreign places with blood on my hands; not knowing what I had done or for what reason...I would wake in his bed, with him on top of me, inside of me and I...I... _I let it happen._ I allowed it to happen because Marjolaine was clothed in silks and paraded before the elite of Orlais. She was sought after by men and women of high stature for her music and her voice and she was...she was  _happy_ and Leron left her alone. I bore the brunt of his freakish experiments and I had been bathed in blood before spatters of it even flecked Marjolaine's shoes." _  
_

_Maker's blood-soaked breath. How can it be that every orign story I am witness to is more ghastly than the last? I had thought my own past to be drenched in pain and sorrow. I had thought Salem's one of the deepest tragedy I have known, but this... **this** outstrips the sum of my and my warden's agony, even had our tragedies been mingled to one. _

     "Over time," Kathyra sighed as her hands curled into fists, "I knew I had to get free. Fear restrained me; convinced me that if I left, Leron would turn the attentions he saved for me onto Marjolaine and I...I could not fear that fate for her. You remember Marjolaine...she was so bright, so beautiful, so full of life. At least...that was how I saw her. Through eyes of family and...and eyes of love. I had been blind; I had not realized how cruel she had become, how Leron's praise and her confidence had made her so vain as to forego human emotion. I took on excess work: assassinations, planting of evidence, the typical work of a bard, all outside of Leron's knowlege. I drenched myself in blood and caused more destruction than any life has the right to produce, all to earn enough gold to purchase my and Marjolaine's freedom."

     Kathyra fell silent and stirred the water with her hand, causing gentle ripples with hands and tears. I did not know what to say, how to speak to the pain that she shared with me. 

     "Leron accepted the gold." she went on, determined to finish her tale. "He accepted the told and he took my body one last time before allowing me to leave. I walked away from his home and then..."

     Kathyra rose to her full height and lifted her arm, exposing a horrific, large white scar on her right side near the base of her rib cage. I could tell the scar was old, but it had healed poorly, leaving a huge, ragged reminder. I recognized this scar all too well. Salem and I both bore an identical scar in the same place on our bodies...perhaps even made by the same weapon. 

     "You know this wound." Kathyra said, and I nodded. "The kill strike that became her trademark was first practiced on me." the physician sighed, full of grief and remorse. "Marjolaine stabbed me in an alley, demanding to know how  _I_ could have betrayed  _her_ as I bled out. She asked how I could have torn her from the life that  _she_ wanted." a bitter laugh echoed through the baths. "I fell unconscious and woke several days later in the Chantry, under the care of a beautiful physician. I will not say more, other than that she healed my body, my heart, and my soul. I trained under her, thinking that in learning the healing arts I could help equalize the wrongs that I have done...even though I have no memory of many of the deeds I committed." _  
_

Kathyra fell silent and my heart broke for her. I remembered telling a similar tale, confiding to Salem my life before the Lothering Chantry. Trembling with fear, I had told her who I had been, what I had done, confessing every sin I had ever committed. She had replied with eight words that would resonate with me forever, for they were the kindest I had ever heard.

      _That past is done. I love you still._

     "Forgive me, Leliana." Kathyra pleaded, and her plea had nothing to do with our current position and predicament. "Please, forgive me. I should have...I should have healed from my sounds and hunted Marjolaine down. I should have stopped her from becoming what she became; I should have spared you the torture you endured from loving her...I followed her but never spoke, listened but never acted, knew and did  _nothing_. I could not return to that life. After a time, even watching her sickened and tortured and haunted me." Kathyra ran her hands through her drenched hair. "Her life is my fault. I have no idea of where she is or what she continues to do..."

      _Kathyra does not know?_ I thought, then remembered that Marjolaine had died in Ferelden, but that her allies might still be operating under the delusion that she still lived.  _We all must confess some sin. I can onlypray that this alleviates your guilt...knowing that the monster you did nothing to stop is no longer in this world._

     "Marjolaine is dead." I crossed through the water to Kathyra and wrapped the shuddering woman in my arms, unable to let her bear the pain alone. 

     We had both loved the same woman, Kathyra as her sister, I as her lover. We had both suffered from her touch. We had both let the opportunity to end her life slip from our fingers. Blame could be placed with ease on the both of us. Her guilt was mine. 

     "How?" she asked and her lips trembled. "Did you..."

     "No." I drew away from the embrace. "Marjolaine discovered my whereabouts in Ferelden. She set a trap which I fell into...yet again."

     "But...you're alive?" Kathyra questioned the truth standing before her, unable to comprehend that someone existed who was capable of bringing down the menace that was Marjolaine. 

     "Salem." her name was the sole explanation that I needed. 

     Clarity infused the physician's eyes and Kathyra set her shoulders and nodded. "Then I owe the warden a debt of eternal gratitude." Kathyra lifted my left hand and pressed her lips to my signet ring. "You have my loyalty, Leliana Cousland." she swore an oath of fealty, as a knight would to a noble. "No matter what transpires, you have an ally in Val Royeaux. That is, if you will accept my offer."

     "With my whole heart." I accepted, forigiving the past and Kathyra and Marjolaine. 

     Suffering would last forever if it were not mitigated by forgiveness. There were things I did not believe I would ever be forgiven for, but I could grant Kathyra some measure of peace. And I would, because I had been taught how. 

      _Salem, my love, you are protecting me even now. I can never repay you. Can you...can you ever forgive me?_


	25. The Darkness Speaks

**Salem**

    "Hang  _on_ , Rowland." Mhairi's voice greeted my ears as I moved closer, clinging to the wall for support. "You'll be all right. The Warden Commander is here now. She came. She  _came._ " the relief in the Denerim knight's tone was palpable, but the hope in it unwarranted. 

      _I am no savior, and I am no healer, Mhairi_ , my uselessness overwhelmed me as I knelt beside the man who wore a mirror image of Mhairi's armor.  _My presence does not save lives. I am the one who brings death. Wherever I go, it follows my footsteps, whatever I touch, it graces. I am a thief of lives, Mhairi. Do not cheer for me. Do not rejoice at my presence. Weep that you have seen me. Mourn that I am here. Do this so that all will be well in the world._

     "C...Commander." a weak hand grasped at my chestplate as his pale lips worked. "Thank...thank the Maker you've come."

     "Rowland, save your strength." Mhairi busied herself with undoing the man's armor, exposing a shallow slash across his hipbone where cuirass met greaves. "Rowland is the sergeant of my unit." she explained as she further inspected the wound, which was, in itself, not fatal. 

     "Master mage," the knight turned, looking to Anders with beseeching dark eyes, "can you do anything to help him?"

     Oghren and I exchanged a knowing look. We had seen this manner of wound before. Mhairi and Anders did not see the dark mottling beneath the kin that appeared, on the surface, to be but simple bruising. They did not see the fever sheen in the sergeant's eyes as the black threatened to drag him under. 

      _His blood has been tainted, and he is not long for this world._

     "No good...my girl." Rowland gasped, looking at Mhairi with the compassion of a seasoned soldier, accustomed to death and violence. He had accepted his fate. "That blade...I think...was poisoned."

     "No." Mhairi whispered, her hand reaching out to Rowland's cheek. She could not accept the inevitability of this death. "Rowland, no. Remember why we came here. To fight. To become Grey Wardens...and the commander is here now. She will think of something, Rowland. We can save you."

      _Not even the Joining would save him now. The taint has burned too deep into his blood...he must have been wounded early on in the fighting. Maker, I do not know how I can do this. They have such hope in me, and I am nothing but a woman. Yes, I killed a god...but when will they realize that death is the sole gift I can impart? Death...and love...the two things which have ruled my life._

     "Commander." Rowland turned his eyes to mine. "Up...on the roof...there is one of them. A darkspawn. He...he threatens your men...he  _speaks_."

     Oghren and I traded another glance, one of alarm and discomfort. In all the warden legends, darkspawn had been mute, growling creatures spawned from the abyss. But Rowland was dying...he would not use his last breath and his last moments to lie to us. 

      _What new manner of hell is this? If they can speak...can they feel? Can they acknowledge emotion and understand us? Oh, Maker, if I had died...if I had died, would this have happened? Would my death still set the world aright._

     "Rest easy, soldier." I took Rowland's hand in my own, hoping to give him a measure of peace... _to bring his death more quickly._

     "Commander," Rowland wheezed, breath rattling in his chest, "you...keep care..." he smiled fondly at Mhairi, "...of my girl."

     "You have my word, sergeant." I assured him, letting his body go slack in relief, closing his eyes with my own fingers, taking his soul upon my shoulders. 

      _I will carry you as I carry all of those who have died in my stead, Rowland, knight of Denerim. Go into the Maker's grace and forgive me my transgressions, I beg you._

     "Rowland?" Mhairi asked, unwilling to believe the cold truth of her eyes. "Rowland?" her lips trembled. " _Rowland!"_

     "He's dead." Anders told her, catching the woman about the shoulders as she lunged for her friend's body. The mage held Mhairi as she trembled. "He is free from pain. You are all right. You will be all right."

     He spoke words of comfort to her and held her in a gentle embrace, but his eyes pierced daggers through me, conveying his true sentiments. 

      _You think I killed him, mage?_ Anger flared...faltered...died.  _Perhaps you are right. Had I not neglected my duty, he might have lived. He might have lived._

     "Stairs are just beyond." Oghren jerked his thumb towards the hallway. "Up 'em and at 'em, eh warden? I wanna suss out this talkin' darkspawn for myself."

     "It's gone quiet." I realized, listening to the eerie after-battle silence. "Yes. One more battle, and I believe we might be safe."

      _...for now._

     "Mhairi, are you prepared for this?" I asked the knight as she extricated herself from Anders' dubius embrace. 

     "Yes ma'am." she scrubbed her tears away with the back of her hand. "I want to kill the  _fucking_ monster that did this! Lead on, Commander. I'm trustworthy."

     "As you say."

     We climbed the stairs to the roof and I gripped my swords tight, pouring into them all of my rage and my guilt and my desire for death. Killing had its own magic, a ferocity that dulled all other instincts but survival. I had balanced my skill with teh blade with the love in my heart, and remained sane through the Fifth Blight. But love had departed, and I was left with only bloodthirst and the cold, echoing vault of my soul. 

     Oghren kicked open the door to the roof and we strode out. I began running as I saw a human man, armored in silver, on his knees with a darkspawn blade at his throat. Another hurlock stood before him, clad in chainmail, a mantle of purple around his neck. 

      _It is a symbol of rank,_ my stunned mind processed the scene,  _something no darkspawn has ever before possessed. But, if they have been given the power of speech, if they are awakening as sentient beings, then perhaps they no longer need an Archdemon to band together and..._ my gut twisted into a churning knot as I realized the ramifications of this. 

     "It is as was said would be." a chilling voice, like muddied water over bladed rocks, grazed my ears. The purple-clad darkspawn spoke. "As he said would be. Gently, we are to kill this one. We wish no more pain than is necessary."

     "That is not the manner of your kind." the man, with iron grey hair and steel blue eyes, answered. 

     "What my kind is even we know not." the darkspawn spoke, mesmerizing me as I came to a stop, the other three behind me, equally stunned. "Therefore what manner you see us in is perhaps as much lie as truth. Much must become known. Kill now."

     "Lay a hand on him and perish." I moved forward, unwilling to let another human life end at the hands of the darkspawn, speaking, sentient, or not. 

     "You came." the creature cracked his mouth in a distorted caricature of a smile. Sharp spikes of bone protruded from rotting, blackened gums. "As was said you'd come." he pulled a wicked, spined, curving blade from off of his back and jerked his hand. Other darkspawn joined him, but he left the grey-haired man alone. 

     "It really does talk." Anders breathed while Mhairi trembled silently with rage and fear. 

     "Then cut out its sodding tongue!" Oghren growled. 

     "Wait." steel entered my voice, and I knew none would dare challenge me. "Battle will come, but wait."

     "Keep alive the Grey Warden." the monster commanded. "Kill the rest."

     "Tell me why you've come." I demanded as the other darkspawn moved on their orders. 

     "Knowing is not for you." it gurgled out a laugh. "But you shall be our knowing."

     "Can we kill it now?" Oghren glared at me. 

     "Mhairi, Oghren, protect the man and kill the darkspawn. Anders, keep Mhairi and Oghren safe. Leave the talking bastard to me." I dispensed orders with the confidence that had never been mine, not truly. 

      _But I **can** kill.  **That,** I have confidence in. _

The curved blade swept out for my chest and I blocked it with my sword, feeling the strength of the blow shudder along my bones. I brought my offhand blade up under its sword, nearly piercing its armor when the darkspawn jarred its weapon down, the serrated edge catching my sword and knocking it out of my hand. 

     I pulled away and it pushed forward, angling its blade downward. The edges screeched across my armor and the metal plate threatened to give way. Sparks and flecks of metal assaulted my eyes and I blinked rapidly, pulling back as it continued to hack at me in a relentless assault. 

     "You are wished undamaged, warden." the monster spoke in the guttural voice that chilled me. "Defeat will come."

     "To...you..." I ground out as sweat dripped into my eyes, muddying my vision even more. 

     My ears rang with the clamor of magic and the scent of mage's fire and burning flesh assaulted me. I stepped into an overhead blow and slipped my foot behind the darkspawn's, drawing my leg in tight and tripping him. I stepped onto his chestplate with my left leg as it fell; my right threatened to give and my head pounded unmercifully. 

     It gripped my leg and its claws sank into my flesh. I gritted my teeth as I forced my blade through its unprotected skull. The monstrous creature tensed, cutting into me yet further. I closed my eyes and waited for its muscles to relax, willing my consciousness to last beyond the pain. I knelt and pulled its hand from my body, startled when a weathered hand appeared before my eyes. 

     "My thanks, arlessa." I found myself looking into blue eyes. They held a...a remembered kindness. 

      _Do I know you?_ I wondered, wracking my memories, attempting to bring to the forefront this face, those eyes...failing. 

     I took the proffered hand and he hauled me to my feet. I blinked back the dizziness, headache, and distaste for my title. "Salem." I gave him my name. "Salem Cousland."

     "You may call me Varel." he introduced himself. "Seneschal of Vigil's Keep. I owe you my life, as do many of the citizens. Thank you."

      _Do not thank me. Too much has been lost here for gratitude to be present._

     "Did any survive?" I asked. 

     "The contingent of Denerim knights managed to evacuate most of the townsfolk at the beginning of the attack. Persuading them to return might be difficult, but I will see to that. I am your man, Arlessa Cousland."

     "Salem." I interrupted. 

     "...Salem." he continued. "I am here to assist you in all matters of governance. Call on me as you have need, please."

     "Ummmm...I do so hate to interrupt." Anders leaned out from behind Varel, pointing to the road below. "But I do believe I see soldiers arriving on the main road. Reinforcements perhaps?"

     I looked in the direction he pointed, catching the standard that whipped in the wind and stood out, even in the grey of the rain. Joy caught in my heart as I saw the golden, rampant lion embroidered on a field of crimson. Theirin colors. 

     A true, honest smile spread over my lips and I turned to leave, fighting to conceal my limp and my pain from my new companions, one name, one thought reverberating in my thoughts. 

      _Alistair._


	26. Words from Home

**Leliana**

    I dressed in the soft white robes that the Chantry sisters had laid out for me. The cotton wraped me in comfort and I luxuriated in it, for a moment. A pang of sorrow struck my heart and I bit my lip, restraining tears. 

      _No material comfort can provide what you gave to me, Salem,_ I spoke to her in my thoughts as though she were standing before me, flesh and blood, in person.  _I have never trusted in myself. Always I followed Cecile's instruction, and, after her, Marjolaine's. Even in the Lothering Chantry I devoted myself to the revered Mother and did nothing under my own willpower. Not until you come into my life did I begin to trust the instincts that had been honed to a razor's edge. Can you hear me, my love, wherever you are? I pray it is somewhere warm and safe, and that you find yourself surrounded by those who love you. I made a promise, and I shall make good on it. I **will** return to you. _

Kathyra came to stand beside me, dressed in the black and gold livery of the Seekers, wearing no armor and carrying no weapon. She had tied back her abundant, wavy hair with a leather thong and without it obscuring her features, I could see more evidence that she and Marjolaine shared blood. But, unlike Marjolaine, Kathyra's countenance wore a look of profound peace, even though her eyes were still red and swollen from spent tears. 

     The two sisters who had led us to the baths flanked me on either side as we exited. They were to lead me to the room where I would stay until summoned by the Divine. Kathyra smiled at me, her eyes burning with regret, and I knew that she would not be accompanying me. 

     "With your permission, I will join you later." she clasped her hands in front of her, as though uncertain of what to do wtih them. "I'm quite certain Cassandra is waiting to upbraid me."

     "You are more than welcome." I met her green eyes, Marjolaine's eyes, finding that, now, that shade and shape held no terror for me. 

     "Thank you, Lady Cousland." her eyes conveyed more than her words ever could. 

     "Kathyra," I called as she turned away. The physician looked at me again, inexplicably hopeful. "Be  _careful_." I extended to her the same warning she had given me, warning her against Cassandra, and against her own heart. 

      _She wears her pain in her eyes and allows it to soften her touch. She has been broken so many times,_ my heart reached out to her again,  _a healer with no one to mend her own wounds. I am very well acquainted with that sort,_ a soft smile reached my lips as I thought of Salem.  _And I know that I fell for the warden with the first lips that fell from her lips. I can afford a friendship with the sister of Marjolaine, but nothing more. My heart is not my own to give...it has not been since that day in Lothering._

     "This way, Lady Cousland." one of the sisters spoke, guiding me further down the glimmering hallways. 

     The dusky red of sunset filtered in through the archways, turning the shadows to purple and the marble to a fiery orange. The beauty of it struck my eyes and I felt saddened as I realized this beauty no longer sang to me as it once had. It no longer resonated with my heart and filled me with joy and longings. I had witnessed a far more terrible grandeur...the power that a human heart could hold, its sorrows and depths and wisdoms...the glories of the world paled in comparison to it. 

     "Your quarters, milady." a set of double doors opened before me, revealing a comfortable room, complete with a fire roaring in the corner. "Food has been prepared and is waiting for you. Of course, you are not permitted to leave, and a guard will be sent here shortly to make certain of your cooperation."

     "My cooperation has never been suspect." I pursed my lips as they confirmed my status, however elevated it might be, as a prisoner. "But I am under orders, and will follow them accordingly."

     "Yes, milady." they bowed with respect and I entered the room, letting them close the door behind me. I winced as I heard the bar being set, preventing an escape from that quarter at least. 

     I examined the rest of the room, noting that all surfaces had been secured to the walls, all the furniture to the floors, and that bars had been set in the window. Despite its comfort and its warmth, it was a holding cell and I had been caged within it. Once more, the nightingale found herself imprisoned. 

      _And yet I find that I am inexplicably at peace. I am calm and unafraid, though still cautious. I have entered a den of wolves who are arrayed in the garb of the righteous. The Divine is the most powerful woman in all of Thedas; her line set in power by Andraste herself. It would take another prophet to unseat Beatrix, another Exalted March, a war to rival all others._

I sighed and sat down at the table, mouth watering at the scent of freshly baked bread. I bit deeply into the meal they had prepared for me, savoring the taste of fine, Orlesian flour, interwoven with butter, honey, and garlic. I moved a plate off of the tray and my heart skipped a beat. Beneath the plate was a folded parchment, my name written on it in a familiar, precise script. 

     I lifted the parchment and ripped open the seal, not bothering to examine it for proof of my suspicions. Tears pricked my eyes and fell as I read. 

* * *

      _My dearest Leliana,_

_I am leaving this letter in Fergus' care, so that he might see to its delivery. I have no way of knowing when it will reach you, or even if it shall. Maker's breath...you left not five candlemarks ago and already I am addressing a letter to the Holy Palace in Val Royeaux. Please forgive me if it seemed I bade you farewell too easily. I could not bring myself to speak then, to say the words that are fissuring through my heart and driving me near to distraction._

_I have just been informed that Amaranthine has been attacked by darkspawn. I need not say anything further on that matter. You know me too well. You always have. I will go, and I will fight, and I will bring peace to my people again. I wish you were at my side. I am afraid, dear heart. I am afraid that this will change me in an irreparable way. I do not wish to burden you with these thoughts at what must be a dark time for the both of us, but I owe you the truth._

_I love you, Leliana. I wish with all that is within me that we had fled; even though you said you would not have that life for us. Already I miss your voice against my ear, your arms around me in slumber. You shall never be far from my thoughts, and always in my dreams. I pray fervently for the day that will see us reunited. Please, keep care for yourself, and do not worry about me. I shall come through this as I have through every trial past, I give you my word._

_All my heart,_

_Your Salem_

* * *

     I set the letter aside and buried my head in my hands, torn between prayers and curses. Ferelden had called for her again, the land that had been placed under her care had been asaulted, and I was not there. I was not beside her, lending her the strength of my bow and the safety of my trust. I could not help her and I needed to...I needed to be there so badly. 

      _I am not where I should be. Maker, forgive me. And please, please, **please** keep her safe.  **Keep. Her. Safe.**_

 

 


	27. My Brother Here Art Thou

**Salem**

    The cloying stench of smoke still clung to the air, although most of the fires had been extinguished by the heavy rainfall and the efforts of the townspeople, many who had re-emerged from hiding after the threat was eradicated. My heart burned in my chest as I watched weeping family members embracing each other in sorrow and relief. I wondered how many of them had lost someone dear to them in the attack; how many lives had been forever altered. 

      _It was a simple day,_ I thought,  _one like any other. Just as it was the night Arl Howe decided that House Cousland no longer needed to exist. Maker's breath, how do I even begin to repair the damage done? I cannot help but feel that it was caused, in part, by my absence here, where I should have been from the moment Alistair granted it to the wardens._

I increased my stride as the armed cavalcade came closer, shoving down the pain in my head and in my leg. Joy spiraled through me as the man in the lead swung from his saddle and began running in my direction, disregarding the mud that splashed his impeccable boots. 

     Sparking, smiling brown eyes met mine and Alistair wrapped his arms around me and would have lifted me from the ground, were it not for the heavy plate armor weighing me down. He withdrew from the embrace an held me at arm's length, brows creasing as he took in my battle-weary state. 

     "Heavens, hells, and angels, Salem." he muttered, frowning. "You look like death."

     "Always a pleasure, your majesty." I said, clipped. My warden brother stared at me, shocked at the brusqueness and formality of my tone. I waited for a moment before I broke into a wide smile. "Maker's breath, it's good to see you Alistair."

     I embraced him again, letting his broad shoulders hold me for a moment. For a fraction of time, I let go in the arms of one I knew could understand me like none other. 

     "Salem..." Alistair pulled away and surveyed the damage, the few battered guards lending aid where they could, men and women running amuck, searching for their loved ones or helping tend the injured. "...what happened here?"

     "Darkspawn." I surveyed the damage done and frowned, feeling the weight of my burdens settle in on me once again. "I suspect the Deep Roads run further than we thought, Alistair. Farther than even the dwarves recall. Vigil's Keep was attacked from within...there has to be an underground entrance, because, from the outside, this place is veritably impenetrable."

     "The wardens?" Alistair asked of their fates, concerned. "The guards? Citizens?"

     "It is still far too early for a body count." the darkness in my thoughts threatened to overwhelm me. "I can confirm at least seven wardens dead of the twelve that were sent here. I am not looking forward to reporting their loss back to Weisshaupt."

     "Ah, yes..." Alistair frowned. "That duty would fall to you now, wouldn't it?"

     "You have effectively made me the highest ranking warden in Ferelden." I grimaced over-dramatically and he laughed. 

     "Complains the woman who jammed a crown about my temples and said 'Ta, I'm off to be wed'!" Alistair slanted his eyes at me before looking around, gazing at the unfamiliar faces, save Oghren, than began to walk up and surround us. His brow creased. "Salem, where is Leliana?"

     "Val Royeaux." I answered, drawing him aside so that none could hear our conversation. "It was a fucking mess, Alistair. The Divine herself called Leli to Orlais after the battle in Denerim. I saw the letter, signed in Beatrix the Third's own hand."

     "Surely she did not go." Alistair interrupted, staring at me with such an aggrieved look that I nearly embraced him again. But too many eyes were on us for the fresh-minted arlessa of Amaranthine to be so intimate with her kind, our past history notwithstanding. 

     "She did not go of her own will." I pinched the bridge of my nose as the terrible memories assaulted me, dragging me backwards into hell. "The Divine's own Right Hand came to Highever and, well...equate it to a legal kidnapping and there you have it. She's out of reach by now. That same night, I was informed of the increasing number of darkspawn attacks here. I cannot help but think that  _this_ attack on  _this_ scale was held off until my arrival. Someone is trying to send me a message, Alistair."

     "What sort of messages can a darkspawn send?" the king asked. "Aside from the archdemons, none of them are capable of coherent thought."

     "There are those who would make that argument about you." I teased, before my countenance darkened yet again. "One of them talked, Alistair. I  _spoke_ to a darkspawn hurlock. He said that my arrival had been awaited, even foretold. Their orders were to take me...hostage. Prisoner? I do not know why, all I know is that we would sense it if another archdemon had risen. This is something beyond that. Something far greater and graver."

     "Maker's blood-soaked breath." Alistair swore, surveying the destruction before him. He ran his hands through his hair and mussed it, making him look decidedly rakish. "Salem, I...I want to stay. I do. I want to help you sort this out, but..."

     "You are king now." I rested my hand on his shoulder, alleviating him of any burden. "You have far more to consider than a darkspawn raid in Amaranthine. Both of us placed these titles on the other."

     "Effectively crippling ourselves." Alistair glared at me, grief in his dark eyes. "I have voices in my ears, bombarding me consistently at all hours without thought. This country is a mess, Salem. I have nobles begging for aid, each grabbing for every spare piece of gold left in our coffers, which Loghain's would-be civil war have nearly drained dry. Every representative tells the same story, crying destitution...I'm at my end with it."

     "Is that what brings you here?" I asked, eyeing the king's entourage of templars, scribes, and the Denerim kingsguard. 

     "Indeed." he nodded. "I have decided to go to every teyrn, arling, and bann to suss out for myself where aid from the throne could best be put to use. Greed drives men to great and depraved lenghts. I do not have the patience for it."

      _This,_ I thought as I watched him,  _is perhaps the **one** good decision that I have made. Alistair is a truly pure man, incorruptible by lust, un-persuadable by greed, untempted by pride. A true king. A king as Cailan never could have been. This Blight gave Ferelden one gift, though I doubt she will realize it until it is too late. _

     "You need not worry for Amaranthine." I relived him of this burden in part. "It has rich fields and strong people. We will endure."

     "You forgot Amaranthine's kind and giving leader." Alistair smiled at me. "I have no doubt that this arling will emerge from this crisis at the forefront."

      _Kind and giving?_ I questioned his appraisal of me.  _I am becoming cold, Alistair. There is a chill in my very soul and I cannot find the fire that once sustained me._

     "Your majesty!" a call rang out from a foreign voice. "Your majesty!"

     "No rest for the kingly." Alistair tossed me a grin full of mischief and bravado. 

     We turned to face the person who had spoken and I saw a fitful Anders unwillingly restrained in the grip of two templars. A woman with dark auburn hair strode to Alistair and jerked her thumb at the mage. 

     "This man is a wanted mage, your majesty." she spoke to her king, disregarding me. "He tells me his templar escort was killed in the attack, but this bastard would have made himself free again, had I not recognized him. He's escaped the Circle tower three times."

     " _Four_." Anders growled, his eyes flaring with wrath. "I won't go back! You cannot make me! I will  _not_ be imprisoned again!"

     Alistair frowned and I saw the war within his eyes. Ferelden's king had been a templar, raised to distrust and fear mages. And yet a mage had acted as a mother to the both of us. An apostate witch had saved both of our lives at Ostagar, and found a way for us both to live after we felled the archdemon. 

     "Salem?" he asked, begging me to spare him this judgment, deferring to me as he always had. 

     I appraised the man with hair the color of dark honey, whose eyes were screaming with their own tortured memories. He would never admit it, being too proud, but he feared being taken back to the Circle. And rightly so. Four escapes and even the Ferelden Circle, known for its leniency, would hold him down, shave his hair, ink his face, and enact the Rite of Tranquility.

     I remembered Leliana in the bowels of Redcliffe Castle, firm in her assertion that everyone, even one such as Jowan, a blood-magic practitioner, deserved a second chance. She had always believed that, but seemed unwilling to give herself that second chance. I hoped that, after trying so hard, I had convinced her that she, too, was worthy of that grace. Perhaps Anders was, as well. 

      _I do this for you, dear heart. Because of your belief, your faith._

"Unhand him." I ordered the templars. "I invoke the Right of Conscription. Anders will undergo the Joining and become a Grey Warden."

     The auburn-haired woman huffed and turned on her heel, signaling her juniors with the flick of a hand to let Anders go. The mage rubbed his arms as though they had been gripped too tightly, and he glared at me with stormy eyes. 

     "You have no right." he hissed. "No right to turn me into one of  _you_."

     "Do you want your freedom, mage?" I asked, staring him in the eyes, bathing him in the death my gaze promised and exemplified. "You will find it only with this offer." I leaned in and whispered in his ear. "There will be no Rite of Tranquility if they discover the true fate of your templar escort. They will  _kill_ you."

     Properly cowed, Anders backed away, hiding himself as best he could. I caught Oghren's attention and jutted my chin in the direction Anders had gone. The dwarf nodded and ambled after the mage, to make certain that he did not attempt to run, again. 

     "Well, that's done." Alistair turned to me, eyes filling with sorrow. "Salem, forgive me, but..."

     "I can offer you no hospitality for the evening." I saved him from the apology he tried to make. "And you have much greater things to attend to."

     "The sole reason I do not stay is the immense amount of trust I have in you." Alistair took my hand and clasped it. "Stay strong, Salem." he whispered. "Keep safe. And trust her. Leliana loves you. You went through hell for her and I have no doubt that she will do the same for you. It's who you are. The both of you."

     The overwhelming trust in his eyes unded me and I pulled him into an embrace, uncaring of the consequences and the rumors that would spread. 

     "Thank you." I whispered in his ear, fierce, fighting back tears. "I love you, Alistair."

     The king nodded and departed, his shoulders slumped with sadness. I knew that nothing would give him greater pleasure than to camp here and face this new evil alongside me. The two of us, saving the world again. It could not be. Life and time had divided us, all too soon. 

     I turned back to my people and shored myself up as waves of black washed over my vision, reminding me that I had been injured, that I was exhausted. But I could ignore the screaming of my body, the pain of my wounds. I could ignore it  now as I had countless times during the Blight. 

     "This day is far from done." I told them. "Assist wherever you can." I looked to a young boy, "Go tell Oghren the dwarf and Anders the mage to help with the fires and locate survivors." the boy dashed away. "Varel, stand by the gate to the Keep and attempt to keep the peace. Also, get the wounded inside and out of the elements. Mhairi, you and I will seek out survivors and tend to the injured. None of us will rest until all that has been disrupted is settled once again."

     Varel immediately gathered a group of survivors and began to carry out his task. The young boy I had sent returned, Oghren and Anders following behind him. Anders glared at me, mute, while Mhairi waited for me so that we could begin our task. 

     "All this care you're exhibiting," Anders scoffed, "but you're willing to risk my death in the Joining. You're a hypocrite."

     "Do as I say and it will not be the Joining that kills you, but my blade." I snapped. 

     Anders parted his lips to speak and Oghren elbowed him in the gut, hard. The mage doubled over, gasping for the breath the dwarf had knocked from his lungs. 

     "Come on, mage." Oghren shoved Anders forward, and the mage staggered towards the Keep. The dwarf looked back at me and winked. "He'll learn soon enough."


	28. A Difficult Night

**Leliana**

     The knock at my door sounded sooner than I had expected, and I knew that there would be only one person in this place who would offer me the courtesy of knocking. It was such a simple thing, the ability to remain behind a closed door without fear of being disturbed, but the moment that assurance was stripped, it could change the face of the world. However, the knowledge that here, now a stranger in a strange land, there was one whom I could trust and, perhaps, call friend, I felt comforted.

     "Enter." I called.

     I had finished eating and one of the sisters had arrived to remove the tray. Even though the mattress looked beyond comfortable and the sheets were cool, crisp, and inviting, I could not even consider sleep. I had taken to pacing in front of the fire, attempting to escape the thoughts that would not me rest. Now, I paused, and looked to the door, watching as Kathyra entered. She closed the door behind her, making no noise and I noticed that her shoulders were bunched, her back taut, and, even though her eyes were calm, she looked harried and worn.

     "Is everything all right?" I asked, unable to forget or lose the image of the broken-hearted woman who had sworn her loyalty to me not four candlemarks ago.

     "Fluff and bluster." she offered me a tight, weary smile. "It would appear the finer nuances of leadership still elude Cassandra. Someday, she will learn that there are those of us inured to shouting. I cannot fault her though. She has been on edge since Highever."

     "I wonder why?" I mused aloud, asking a question that warranted no answer.

     "It has been quite some time since she has met anyone skilled enough to place a blade at her neck. Even when a raw, young Seeker, it was difficult to best Cassandra in combat." Kathyra responded to my rhetorical query. "Your warden set her teeth on edge...the Right Hand of the Divine being trounced by a dog lord of a backwater country? A Grey Warden at that?" Kathyra grinned and shook her head. "Cass has needed to prove herself ever since."

     "Regardless, are you well?" I asked, empathizing with her situation.

     I had been upbraided by too many leaders, some of whom were like Cassandra, brusque and pointed. Some of whom had achieved their great triumph too early in life and had been rewarded for it without caution, discretion, or time to understand who they were and how they could lead.

     _All but Salem. Worry spiked in my heart when I laid eyes on her. She looked so young and inexperienced and I feared that she would be brash in her grief over her losses. I had not known before meeting her that grief could create something greater than bitterness. She never led with demands and threads. When others fell short, she took the weight of their burdens upon her shoulders until they could carry it again. And that...that is far more difficult to do thant o simply rail against another until they concede or break._

     "Once my ears regain felling, I shall be right as rain." Kathyra joked, reaching into her pocket and producing a glass vial. "Here." she handed it to me. "You might need this."

     I took the vial and examined the contents, a thick, amber liquid. I removed the cork and smelled it, greeted by the overwhelming scent of sweetgrass and flowers. "What is it?" I asked, dubious.

     _How do I know that the conversation in the baths was not another construct of the Divine? Marjolaine taught me that, sometimes, truth could weave a more dangerous and delicate deception than a web of lies, for truth is stronger and more easily remembered._

"A sleeping draught." she explained, raising her hands to forestall my protests. "Nothing more, I swear it. You will need your strength tomorrow, Leliana. I know how you must be feeling, that rest is the furthest thing from your mind even though your body is craving it."

     I nodded, looking to the folded letter on the table. I was worried. I wanted to know where Salem was, what she was doing...if she were safe. I _needed_ to be with her, to hold her in my arms and verify her presence in this world before this scheme I was swathed in overtook me completely. I needed to be with her and belong to her.

     _Before she becomes yet another pleasant dream from a life once lived._

     "Very well." I uncorked the vial for a second time and drained it, tasting mint, lemon, and honey on my tongue. I swallowed it and turned back to Kathyra, waiting for my body to alert me if anything were amiss.

     "Maker's breathe, I haven't poisoned you." Kathyra chuckled, grim. "Though I can see there are still bridges to be built between us...which will take quite some time, if Cassandra and Beatrix have their way. At least lie down, Leliana. Be at rest in your body if you cannot be in your mind."

     I obeyed, going to the bed and climbing beneath the covers, resting my head on a soft down pillow. "Why would Cassandra wish to curtail our acquaintance?" I wondered aloud. "What does she desire to come from this?"

     "My personal belief," Kathyra sat beside me, smoothing the coverlet, "is that Cassandra is afraid of you. Well...less of you, and more of what you mean. The Divine has told us next to nothing about you, and everything that she revealed, I have told you. Cass is...Cass is uncertain, and is wary of anything new approaching the woman she is sworn to protect. Beatrix has been betrayed by her inner circle before, and because of that, those who share the same sentiments that drove the first attempt are appearing and trying to succeed where others failed. With the person you have been, the places you have been, and the things you have seen...the Right Hand is unsettled. She trusts me, implicitly, and is quite concerned that I put such trust in you, who are, as of yet, an unknown entity."

     "My past does not lend itself to an easy trust." I acknowledged my own deficits and validated Cassandra's concerns. "Nor do the claims I have made inspire belief in my veracity."

     Kathyra nodded. "Cassandra is a hard woman, for one as young as she is. She needs hard fact, solid leads, grounded perspective. She has not yet been afforded the luxury of trusting her intuition. In her position, she cannot afford it."

     "And you protect her." I followed my winding trail of thought as the room blurred pleasantly at the edges. "So why do you trust me, as you claim?"

     "Living amongst bards and living as a bard taught me many things." Kathyra mused, a dark note in her voice. "The greatest lesson was how to see into the heart of someone and judge it within an instant. It is the bitterest skill we learn, but honing such an instinct can be the deciding factor between life and death. It is a...difficult lesson, often taught through betrayal."

     "Not all of us must learn it." I whispered, and my exhaustion made it impossible to fight the tears that pricked my eyes. "There are a few to whom it has been gifted."

     "Your warden?" Kathyra asked, and I nodded.

     _Morrigan uses me as I use here...a means to an end,_ Salem's old words fluttered past my ears, an argument long past from a time when I believed that the witch held more of the warden's trust than I. _There is no need for this, Cauthrien. You let me be rescued..._ words Salem had spoken to the woman who tortured her as she placed herself within reach of the knight's deadly blade.

     _Never once, Salem,_ I thought, _never once did your instincts steer you wrong. Whatever wisdom our bardic training imparted to me and Kathyra...it cannot compare to what you were given._

     "Yes." I whispered as my eyelids fluttered closed. "I wish she were here."

     "I know." Kathyra replied. "I'm sorry."

     Even as I surrendered to sleep I knew...the physician's apology was real.


	29. A Restless Waking World

**Salem**

     I staggered into the small room I had set aside from myself and collapsed into a chair. My hands curled into fists as I allowed my mind to recognize the strain I had placed upon my body. Pain hammered at the back of my skull and spiked from my leg into my back. 

     I stared through the window at the setting moon, my eyes closing of my own volition. There had been no rest, attempting to help Vigil's Keep recover from the horror of the darkspawn attack. I jerked my eyes open, shaking myself into wakefulness. 

      _Head injury,_ I reminded myself.  _Too dangerous to sleep. Too dangerous to do anything. Maker's breath._

     I pinched the bridge of my nose, attempting to hold the headache at bay. The black sky lightened to grey and I fumbled with my bracers, attempting to remove them even though my hands trembled from hunger and exhaustion. There were large blisters on my palms, weeping lymph and blood, and every joint of my fingers ached from swelling.

     _I sent Mhairi and Anders to rest four candlemarks ago._ I catalogued the events of the day in my thoughts, much as I had during the Blight. Organizing every event, straining my mind to its full capacity. _Oghren retired the same time as I...even drunk that dwarf is more functional than most humans. The more severely wounded were transported to Amaranthine...I must send a letter to the healers there...and gold. It will not do to have a liege lord commandeering the services of the people without proper recompense. Those whose homes the fire completely destroyed have been housed within the Keep...I will need to find carpenters and masons as soon as possible._

_Varel mentioned something about a treasury custodian sent here from Weisshaupt. I will have to confer with them immediately. I'm quite certain the arling's treasury is in complete disarray. Leliana...where are you now, dear heart? I pray it is someplace warm and safe, free from trials and tribulations. If one of us must once again lead the life of blood and sweat and death, let it be me. Let it be me._

     A knock at the door sounded and only the pulse of panic I felt brought me to my feet. The muscles in my right leg tremored with such ferocity I felt I might tip over and the holes in my left calf, made by the darkspawn's claws, oozed warm blood.

     I opened the door, shocked to see Varel, the seneschal, standing there. He entered the room, carrying several cloths and a bowl of steaming water. His face appeared drawn; the lines at the edge of his eyes made cavernous shadows.

     "Is everything all right?" I asked, reaching for my swords.

     "Well as can be expected, arlessa." he replied, his tone still alert and aware though I was certain we both hovered on the delicate edge of collapse.

     "Call me Salem." I corrected him. "Today's events have made us closer to each other than noble and seneschal, Varel."

     A hoarse chuckle met my ears. "I cannot believe my eyes." Varel's blue eyes smiled at me and I recognized them, but I did not know from where. "I thought I would die several times through the course of this day...but I am alive. And then I thought the chaos would never cease, but you have brought it to a close. You are every bit as noble and magnificent as he described."

     I stared at Varel in utter bewilderment. "Who knew of me here to say such things?" I wondered aloud, flinching as my seneschal set what he had brought onto a table and began to assist with the straps of my chestplate.

     My armor fell away and I almost collapsed from the sudden relief. Varel shored me up and frowned when he saw the dried blood staining my neck and the deep, heavy stains on my trousers.

     "Sit." the seneschal ordered, and I willingly complied. "I am a simple man, arlessa." he said, rolling up the leg of my trousers and beginning to clean my sounds. The hot water stung and I winced, though I was thankful that Varel treated me in the traditional manner and did not insist on calling a mage. "Always have been. But I have a head for numbers and am skilled in organization and records keeping. One of Howe's banns took notice and brought me up here; set me to managing several small estates. But I was too charitable a soul for the likes of our former arl, Maker rest his soul."

     Varel spat on the ground, a clear indication that, though his words were charitable, his emotions did not back them. I could see the kindness in his blue eyes harden to disgust and yet, behind that, lay such sorrow. He heaved a sigh and continued his tale.

     "I performed one act of kindness...let one payment be postponed, and I found myself back on my own lands, forced to pay my own taxes _and_ the payment I had forgiven. I could not render the gold within the time required."

     _I remember a story quite like this one,_ I thought as Varel finished cleaning the wounds on my leg and bound them tightly.

     "Howe conscripted my son Rowan into his guard and shipped him off to Denerim to serve the traitor Loghain. My wife and i thought him lost to us forever, especially when talk of civil war began to drift in from the four corners. Six months later on a terrible, storm-tossed night, my son showed up on my doorstep with a bruised and bloodied face and outlandish a tale as I ever heard."

     "Wh...what did he tell you?" I asked, fragments of memory filtering into my mind... _unimaginable pain, nightmares, terrors...rats gnawing at my skin._ I reached up, absently rubbing the notches in my left ear where a rat had nibbled away the flesh.

     "My boy told me that Howe had captured a Grey Warden. That he'd ordered her beaten, sliced her open, and left her in the dungeons for the rats to make a meal of." Varel looked at me and I recognized the kindness in them at last, from a pair of brown eyes and a shaking hand offering me water as I lay in agony on fetid floor. "Rowan said that he gave the warden water and that she asked of his plight. Even in her fevered haze, she pulled the signet ring from her finger and released him from Howe's orders, and that the snake-tongued bastard arl himself was dead by her hand. Teyrna Cousland, Rowan said, the strongest, kindest woman he had ever met. We sent a prayer to the Maker for you that night, and every night since."

     Tears filled my eyes as I remembered that night. How I had been so thankful for the few sips of water he had given me, grateful that Rown Varel had been kind enough to kill the rat that had gnawed at me. His father stood before me, praising my kindness, when it was _his_ son who truly possessed a noble heart.

     "That young man...was your son?" I asked, letting my tears fall, too exhausted and in pain to hide them.

     "Aye." Varel rose to his feet and the joints of his knees creaked. "My only child. When the King's edict made its way here, about the reallocation of Amaranthine's leadership to Warden-Commander Cousland, I am ashamed to say that most of those who had sworn fealty to Arl Howe deserted you. I knew then what I needed to do. I owe you the happiness of myself and my wife, the wholeness of our family. I owe you my son's life."

     "You owe me nothing, Varel." I reached out and took his hand, wishing that I had the strength to stand and face him eye to eye.

     "Then accept my service as your seneschal as my thanks." Varel said, assisting me as I rose from the chair. "I will be a safe ear for any confidence, and I will endeavor to aid you in whatever manner I may."

     "Thank you, both for your words and your kindness in binding my wounds. You should get some rest. I am certain your wife and son are worried for you." I remained seated, not wanting this man, who placed such trust and hope in me, to see me so weak and drained.

     "I will only return home if you promise to get some rest yourself, arle...Salem." he answered with a fatherly smile.

     "I swear it." I smiled at him in reassurance and he left the room with a deferential grace.

     _Small kindnesses have great echoes,_ the wisdom of Eleanor Cousland traversed through my thoughts. _Always be kind, my girl. You never know when the whisper you give will return as a shout._

     I dragged myself to my feet and limped to the bowl of water, washing the grime from my hands and working the water through my blood-matted hair, gingerly examining the tender lump at the base of my skull, feeling the rough edges of torn flesh.

     _At least it has stopped bleeding. That is one small mercy._

     I washed the blood and soot and sweat from my face and collapsed on the bed as the sky began to turn the reddish-orange of sunrise.

     "Leliana," I whispered, "I pray this sunrise is kind to you. I love you, heart's dearest...so much."

     With that prayer, that declaration, I let pain and exhaustion sweep over me and carry me to a sleep that would bring no rest.


	30. To Stand Before the Divine

**Leliana**

     _Maker, give me strength. Give me grace and bearing and words. Oh, please, grant me words._ I repeated this prayer with every step I took closer to fate and destiny. 

     The Divine's personal guard had come for me at sunrise, escorting me to an antechamber outside the Divine's Hall. There, sisters of the Chantry poured sweet-smelling oils in my hair, cleaned and perfumed my skin, dressed me in ornate robes of brilliant white. One of them knelt and removed my sandals, then began to clean my feet.

     I lifted my skirts with my left hand, and the glint of my ring caught the eye of one of the sisters. "All who go before Most Holy shall shed the vestiges of the conscious world." she said. "I must remove your ring."

     She reached for my hand and I pulled it away, glaring at her with ferocity that the young woman actually flinched. "If you attempt to wrest this ring from my finger, you will lose our hand." I warned her and she backed away, fear in her eyes.

     _This is a place of peace,_ I reminded myself. _They fear violence because they do not understand its purpose...much the same as I_ _once did not understand. Until a loving hand guided me and explained the need for bloodshed...its necessity for balance. That it can used for good._

     The two guards who had led me to the antechamber flanked me on either side and we approached a small, white door, the star of the Chantry emblazoned on it in silver. I flinched as the door opened, revealing a long marble walkway, the ceiling held aloft by great pillars of stone. The same star hung in gold above the most revered and powerful seat in the world. The Sunburst throne.

     The guards abandoned me; believing the weapons that they were not allowed to leave behind would taint this holy place.

     _And thus it may be in the minds of those who have not learned as I have. That wielding a weapon can bring about peace, healing, and unity. That one well-placed blow can end a war._

     "Come, child." a wise, venerable voice rang from the throne, drawing me closer. "You have nothing here to be afraid of."

     _"She lies."_ a voice that was not my own whispered inside my mind. It rang with a familiar, rough cadence, an untutored accent, an unmatched beauty. " _But trust, and you will have nothing to fear. I am here with you, Leliana of Ferelden._ "

     I shook my head as I walked forward, trying to reconcile what I had just heard. Salem's voice...but not her words. A title she had never called me. Always before had I been Leliana of Orlais, or Leliana Nightingale. And now I wore my lover's name...the name she would surely call me by if it had been her voice that spoke.

     I approached the steps leading to the Sunburst Throne and I bowed low, as custom and tradition required. "Most Holy." I greeted the most powerful woman in Thedas. "I am here at your command."

     "But you are not mine to command?" Beatrix the Third rose from her throne in a lithe movement that belied her age. "Raise your eyes, my child. Look at me."

     I dared to look upwards and examined the Divine...the woman who would speak for the Maker. Silver hair caught in the early morning sunlight; it lay in glistening waves down her shoulders. Her pale skin was wrinkled and cragged with age, but clear and unblemished. Her hands were small and delicate, the nails coated in shining enamel. They were hands that had never held a weapon. No. This woman used words as swords...she could bring down an empire with a single sentence. Keen black eyes sparkled, their lack of color unable to conceal their wisdom and cunning.

     " _You have nothing to fear_." the not-Salem voice spoke again. " _I am with you. I am with you as I am not with her. Remember that, and let it give you strength."_

     "You have questions." Beatrix spoke. It was not an inquiry.

     "I do." I replied. "But surely you have already ascertained what they are, and may now provide answers."

     "My, my." she commented, descending the stairs with an eerie, floating grace. "Let me look at you."

     Her hand cupped my cheek and it took every ounce of my strength to withstand the scrutiny of her gaze and the chill of her touch. The last touch that had made me feel this way belonged to Marjolaine, the last time that I saw her alive, before Salem ran her through and saved my life.

     " _I do not distance myself from those whom I love." _ the voice said, and my head began to ache. " _Feel the cold within her skin. It is present in her heart and in her mind. This is not who I am. She is not who I am."_

     The words spoken would have frightened me further, were it not for the fact that they were spoken in Salem's voice. I did not know who spoke, but it seemed as though they understood my fear and sought to calm it. For that, at least, I was grateful.

     "You are quite beautiful, my child." Beatrix whispered, running her thumb along my cheekbone. "I can see why you were used in the manner that you were. Why you lived an ignominious, terrifying life."

     "Are you going to answer my questions, Most Holy?" I ignored her statements, ignored that she attempted to unsettle me with her knowledge of my past.

     _That past is done. I love you still._

     What I had been, what I had done...it no longer mattered. It no longer mattered to me who possessed knowledge of it. I would not be bent to another's will because they knew of my former life. I would not belong to anyone again.

     Beatrix laughed and the cold echo of it grated against my spirit. "Someone put steel in your spine, I see." she smiled. "The Leliana spoken of in Orlais is shy and diminutive, easily given over to luxuries and the pleasant things in life. Tell me, my child, has the hardship of the Blight made you fiercer...or has something sweeter, perhaps, instilled in you this strength?"

     " _She seeks weakness because she is afraid. She believes she knows who you might be. But you are Mine. You are Mine and I will let none other touch you."_

     "Hardship can be sweet when seen with the correct vision." I said, surprised that my voice did not tremble. I spun the ring on my left hand with my thumb, clinging to it and its meaning for support as I felt her black eyes flay my soul.

     "Indeed." the Divine nodded. "Though not all would see it in such a way. And, speaking of vision, Leliana Nightingale..."

     _Cousland! My name has changed!_

     "...I have heard reports that you claimed to have been given a vision from our Maker. You do realize that this is a claim that borders on blasphemy. One might even consider it heresy."

     "Words are not a crime if there is no proof to substantiate them." I countered her thrust and made one of my own. "Surely the ramblings of a singular woman are not enough to set acquiver the foundation of the Chantry?"

     "Indeed they are not." Beatrix snapped off the ends of her words and I knew I had landed my blow. "However, when those words are written down..."

     She reached into her long, draping sleeve and brought for a small, leather-bound book. I narrowed my eyes as I recognized my journal from my days in the Lothering Chantry. I had left it behind when I joined Salem...and thought it lost after Lothering was sacked by the darkspawn. The Chantry had burned, and like a fool I believed that my written recollection of my vision had burned with it.

     "...those ramblings might be misconstrued as prophecy." Beatrix continued. "I have read your words, and, based on story and testimony, all the events that transpired were foreseen in what you have written here." she tossed the book at my feet. "Explain this."

     " _All were true, save one."_ not-Salem whispered. " _The death of the warden at the archdemon's hands. Use this. It is your one hope of escaping this harpy's clutches."_

     "Begging your pardon, Most Holy, but you are incorrect." I chose to listen. "You will find in that journal that the warden died after striking down the archdemon. Instead, she lived. Against all hope, history, and knowledge of magic, she survived that last battle. A true prophecy would have no errors. This one inconsistency should remove all belief that this was a true seeing."

     "Does it?" the Divine smiled, and I knew I had fallen into a trap. "Or perhaps you knew that this, too, would transpire. Perhaps you knew when you penned these words that they would make their way to me, that I would bring you here, and that you and your abomination of a lover would be forever separated. Perchance you put this _one_ lie in to confuse the noses of my bloodhounds. After all, lies are your stock and trade, are they not?"

     "Once they were." I answered, feeling as though I had been backed into a corner. "What danger do you believe I pose, Most Holy?"

     Her eyes flared at that question and I knew I had hit upon a truth she wished undiscovered. She quickly regained her composure and smiled at me with such deceit that I wanted to retch. I felt that nothing holy was here. Nothing set apart. Nothing blessed. I had felt more one with the Maker at the top of Fort Drakon, crawling towards Salem's broken body than I felt here, before the Sunburst throne.

     "There have been too many false prophets in Andraste's wake, my child." she rested a hand on my shoulder. "All of them have fallen beneath the truth of the Chantry, and none of them have ventured as close to the accuracy of true prophecy as you. Therefore, I am left to one conclusion. You, my dear, have dealt with demons."

     " _What!?_ " I could not rein-in the anger in my voice. "Most Holy, such claims are...are simply _outlandish!"_

     "The Maker is _silent!"_ Beatrix hissed, and I felt that in those words it was women such as her that made Him so. "And yet you have been given what appears to be true prophecy. I can only surmise that it came from a source not of this world."

     "You are wrong." I flung my finger in her face, shaken by my own audacity. "You have made an _error_ , Most Holy, and neither you nor I can provide the proof you so desire. Let me leave and be at an end with this pointless inquisition. I will not recant my stance, nor shall you wrangle from my lips that which you wish to hear."

     "No?" she smiled, knowing that she had the upper hand. "I have resources at my disposal that you and the abomination could not conceive of. You will be taken from here, and a trained mage shall enter your mind. They _will_ find evidence of a deal with a demon therein and my truth will come to light. You, Leliana Nightingale, are no prophet of the Maker. You are but a child who plays at sorcery."

     "There is no magic within me." I resisted her words as my heart began to beat faster. "There is no longer any dishonesty within me. Do what you will, Most Holy. I am unafraid."

     "Are you?" she asked, and this time it _was_ a question.

     I gazed into her eyes, my own full of fury and wrath and righteous anger. "Yes."

     "Enough posturing then." Beatrix clapped her hands and Cassandra and Kathyra entered the hall. "You will be taken before the mages and the truth of your mind will be laid bare. Demon magic or outright lies, Leliana Nightingale, you are no prophet."

     "I am what I am, Most Holy." the Right Hand's fingers wrapped about my arm with vengeful strength.

     " _You have done well, Leliana of Ferelden. Have no fear of the mage's touch. I will protect what is Mine._ "

     As Cassandra led me from the Divine's chambers and deeper into the depths of the Holy Palace, where dark secrets dwelt, I could not help but feel a strange sense of...victory. As though I had won a battle in a war yet to come to light.


	31. The Viper's Child

**Salem**

     "Arlessa." an insistent tone hovered on the edge of hearing. "Arlessa? Salem? Salem, you are needed."

     I clawed my eyes open and waited for the barrage of pain to begin between my temples. "I'm 'wake." I mumbled, still caught in the grip of what had been an incomprehensible nightmare. It took a kind, weathered hand tapping at my cheek to bring me to full awareness.

     "I apologize for waking you, but this is important." Varel hovered near the edge of the bed. "Do you need help?"

     "I'll be fine." I muttered, wrenching my body into a sitting position, ignoring the pain that stripped away any vestiges of sleep. "How long?"

     "Three candlemarks." he answered, assisting me as I rose from the bed and splashed water on my face.

     "Do I need to dress?" I asked, looking down at the tattered, soot-soaked and bloodstained clothes that I had collapsed in not so long ago.

     _I am a ruler now. A liege lord. There will be times when I am expected to appear as such, as a genteel woman of noble birth, not as the warrior I am. This may well be one of those moments._

     "That is entirely up to your discretion, my lady." Varel smiled. "Though I believe it might be beneficial for Amaranthine to see their arlessa un-averse to getting their hands dirty."

     "As you say." I rubbed the grit from my eyes and tried to steady the trembling in the muscles of my right leg. I would need to find something other than sheer willpower to quell this. Scars I could endure, pain I could withstand, but I could not abide an injury that refused to mend. However, I had no choice but to deal with it.

     "What am I facing?" I asked my seneschal, taking careful note of the fact that he averted his gaze. Obviously, it would not be good news. "Darkspawn hordes? Angry peasants? Angry nobles?" No response from my seneschal. "Darkspawn nobles?"

     Varel chortled and I smiled, grateful that I had not entirely lost my sense of humor. "It is nothing so grave as all that, and yet it is perhaps more dangerous." Varel answered. "During the battle's aftermath, one of the nightwatchmen captured a thief within the keep."

     I turned abruptly and faced the seneschal, eyes flashing. "And this was not revealed to me immediately? Why?" I demanded.

     "I only just found out myself." Varel lifted his hands in placation and I calmed.

     _It is not his fault,_ I stead my breathing and my racing heart. _Last night was a swirl of chaos and hell. No one need bear the brunt of needless pain for an oversight. So long as the thief is contained, we will be all right._

     "I see. Are they in custody?"

     "We managed to find a place to keep him, yes." Varel informed me, handing my knife to me when he saw me searching for it. "He is demanding to see the liege lord of the keep."

     I nodded and followed Varel at a slow, cautious pace. The world still spun in front of me and both of my legs ached to the point where I leaned on the wall for support. I felt drained and beaten, battered and broken, much as I had during the Blight.

     _Three candlemark's rest during that time was more than enough,_ I scoffed at myself. _I have grown too accustomed to sleeping through the night. Ah well. I shall soon enough reacclimatize myself to non-existent rest._

     Varel led me to a small room with a young guardsman standing before the door. The moment he saw me he pushed himself away from the wall where he had slouched, and managed to perform an awkward movement that I assumed was meant to be a bow. I frowned as he straightened and attempted to coerce his bearing into something that resembled militant behavior. This idiocy was what Howe had engendered into his troops, conscripting the sons of farmers and woodworkers, throwing a sword into their hands and expecting them to fight without training of any sort. That would change.

     "Arlessa, forgive me." the guardsman's voice quavered but he kept his shoulders straight. "My...my squad apprehended the thief, but in all of the confusion we couldn't find..."

     "It's all right." I placed my hand on his shoulder and attempted to calm the death that swirled in my eyes. I did not want to be the woman that these people feared. I did not want my scars to lessen me in the eyes of others. "You did well. How long have you been at your post?"

     He shook his head as if trying to clear it. "I don't very well know, arlessa. Since before the sun rose, I think. It is rather a blur."

     _You are far too young to face all of this. Maker's breath, is this yet another child that Howe uprooted from his parent's arms and forced into his service. How many of these people have been so grievously wronged? I must put a stop to this madness. I will need to send word to all of Howe's vassals. If any of their forces have been augmented by Howe's indentured servants, then they will know my wrath._

     "Were you conscripted, soldier?" I asked him. "Or did you enlist?"

     The young man blushed a deep shade of red, the tops of his ears turning crimson. "I did not enlist, my lady." he whispered. "Not...not of my own free will."

     "And yet you have performed an admirable service for your country and your people." I said, attempting to burn away the shame that had settled on his face. "Do you have a home? A family?"

     He nodded, seeming to lose fear of me, even daring to meet my eyes. "Yes, my lady."

     "Good." I removed his helmet and ruffled his hair. He looked at least two years shy of his majority. "Wait here. Varel will join you shortly, free you from service, and give you what you need in order to return to your family and your home, if you so desire."

     "But...my lady...I...you are letting me go?" he asked, confused. "I am under contract, my parents will suffer if..."

     "Those were Howe's orders, not mine." I countered. "I will have no man in my armed services who does not wish to be there, and none who have not reached their age of majority. Are there many others in your position?"

     He nodded. "There...there were." he stammered. "There are not many who survived." he swallowed, hard, as though he feared punishment for some perceived misdeed.

     _Damn Howe into hell!_ my thoughts seethed in a wrathful tangle. _So much blood is **still** on his hands. If Loghain had not seen fit to attempt to sever this country and take the crown from his own daughter's hands...Maker's **fucking** breath. Where do I even begin to repair this? _

     "Gather those that remain and meet with Seneschal Varel in the main hall of the Keep. If there are any who wish to stay, I will not order them to go, but for those who wish to leave, their lives are their own, and all imagined debts are forgiven."

     "Yes, my lady." the lad saluted before he ran off to gather those who had known his same hardships.

     I glanced at the door and braced my shoulders.

     "I've never seen such a look of joy." Varel commented as I set my hand upon the door latch. "As though you had given him permission to breathe."

     "Howe ruled through fear." my words were laced with bitterness. "I abhor the emotion. I will not have it, Varel. All of this corruption must come to an end."

     "You will earn few friends among the banns and lesser nobles of Amaranthine." Varel counseled, as was the right of his position.

     "Damn them." I growled. "I am the voice of the king. I have the ability to wield Alistair's power whenever I so choose, at my own discretion. Blooded families can lose their titles as easily as these good, common people have been forced to lose their lands, gold, and children."

     Varel laughed. "You are fearless, Salem Cousland."

     "Far from it, seneschal. I am out of my depth in this place and the waters are filled with sharks."

     "Then make certain that you are not the one who bleeds." Varel smiled as I opened the doors.

     "I know how to do little else well." I quipped, entering the dark little room, examining the man behind the bars.

     Long, greasy black hair tumbled down his shoulders. A broad-shouldered, well-muscled body approached the bars and lithe fingers wrapped around them. A mouth with thin lips smiled at me and grey eyes screamed in anger and recognition. My entire body tensed and my hands began to tremble, not in fear, but in rage. I turned to Varel and the guard who had kept watch inside the ersatz cell.

     "Out. Now." I ordered, and compliance was swift.

     The doors closed behind me and the man behind bars smiled again, like a snake. "Well met, my lady." he spoke in a haughty, cultured voice, purchased at great cost from a foreign tutor.

     "Why are you here," I asked, praying that he could see the evil promise in my eyes, "Nathaniel Howe?"

    


	32. Pain and Precious Memories

**Leliana**

     "Forgive me, please." Kathyra had been whispering apologies without ceasing as she affixed leather restraints about my wrists and legs, imprisoning me so that Beatrix could discover how wrong she had been.

     "It is all right." I assured the physician, unable to explain the calm that had filled me since meeting with the Divine. No chaos existed in my soul; I felt no apprehension towards what was next to come. "You have no need to apologize, there is nothing to forgive."

     "I fought against the order." tear-filled green eyes met mine. "I tried to put a stop to this, Leliana, I swear it. Please..."

     "I hold nothing against you." I whispered, wishing that I could reach out and wipe away her tears; comfort her as her companionship had comforted me.

     The expression on her face changed from sorrow, turning into angered fear. She backed away from me, glared at me, and gave me the look that one would give another when questioning that other's sanity.

     "This is _wrong_ , Leliana." she growled, her voice guttural and hoarse. "Mind magic is the height of _atrocity_ , and, in allowing it to be used against you, the Divine has sanctioned _**rape.** " _

     "Beatrix will find nothing of what she seeks from me." I assured Kathyra. "And you need not be here if watching this will cause you pain. I understand what will happen, Kathyra. I traveled in the company of mages. I have been abducted into the Fade. And I have known pain. All will be well."

     "How...how can you do this?" she shook her head in disbelief. "How can you sit there and not struggle; how can you not revile the one who is forced to bind you and subject you to _torture!?"_

     "The answer lies within your question." I smiled at the older woman. "You were forced. This is no crime of yours, and I beg you not to make yourself suffer on my account. You do not need to be here, or watch this, I swear I will be fine."

     "I do need to be here." she stated, adamant. "I am the presiding physician...the only one here who knows the effect that mind-magic has on the body. I have...I have to stay."

     I sharpened my gaze and examined her features, the tension in her neck; the jumping muscle in her jaw. Kathyra was afraid. More than afraid. Terrified. Being here, seeing this...it would bring back to her untold horrors, secrets from a past that perhaps I alone was privy to.

     "Cassandra has no knowledge of your past, does she?" it was not a question, though I phrased it as such.

     "None." the physician answered, lowering her head, shielding her eyes with a tangled ash-blonde curtain.

     "Then stand outside the door." I knew she would not want her weaknesses revealed. "Until the magic is done. You need not worry for me. You have seen my scars. You know what I have survived."

     "You cannot be real." Kathyra turned away. "I simply cannot comprehend your existence."

     _I once shared your same thoughts...I thought no one pure existed in this world. I thought the desires of the Maker lost to our arrogance and foolishness bought with his silence. And now...now I know that something, someone so good walks and lives and breathes and **fights** for what she believes in, unafraid of any physical suffering that might be endured. I share her name, and I will share her determination. Let all of hell rage against me; I am unmoved. _

     Cassandra entered the room, leading a middle-aged man. His short hair had once been black, but little of its original color remained. His brown eyes were tired; his skin drawn and pale. His hands were changed, and they trembled slightly. Kathyra blanched and backed up against the wall, clearly trapped in memories whose pain I could not fathom. The mage stumbled over his shackles and brushed the Right Hand as he fought to regain his balance.

     "Do not touch me." Cassandra hissed, backhanding the mage across the face.

     I stiffened in my own restrains, outraged at the treatment of mages by those who were meant to be their protectors. The tattooed mark on the mage's face was not lost on me, I knew that it meant he had, at one time, been an apostate, but such a thing did not demand he continually be punished for having, at one time, been free.

     _Too fierce a protector can become a tormentor. Power is its own damnation. Stitch...Morrigan...Wynne...they were men and women...they felt they bled they **loved**. This treatment is criminal!_

     "Leave him be." I whispered, catching the man's eyes with my own, smiling, silently telling him that I understood what he must do.

     "Do not presume to give me orders." Cassandra barked, jerking the man's chains and bringing him forward.

     "Oh, forgive me, Cassandra." I smiled coquettishly, foolishly. "I thought it common knowledge that the Maker gave mankind dominion over things less than human."

     She caught the insult and I felt the harsh sting of flesh against flesh, the back of her hand against the corner of my mouth. I tasted blood and smiled.

     "Cass, stop!" Kathyra ordered, grasping the Right Hand's shoulder and wrenching her backwards. "Your orders were not to harm her. Let the mage do his work and let us go back to our own."

     "Are you sympathetic to the heretic?" Cassandra accused the physician. "I thought you better than such things, Kathyra." she turned to me and glowered, though her eyes caught light as she saw the blood on my face. "By the grace of Most Holy, you have been given the opportunity to recant. Admit the truth of the accusations against you and spare yourself the suffering."

     _This is a bloody witch-hunt!_ Realization slammed into me with the force of a tidal wave. _Prophets were sought after, once, revered...now they are threatened with the rape of their psyche for consorting with demons! So much is wrong here...and I am to play some part. But what?_

     "It is by the grace of Most Holy that I sit here, chained." I tilted my head and smiled. "Funny that."

     "You refuse to recant?" The Right Hand asked.

     "You insist on remaining so dense?" I quipped.

     "Mage!" Cassandra shoved the man forward, wiping her hands on her tunic after she touched him. "Do as you have been commanded."

     His shaking hands reached out and his fingers touched my temples. I smiled at him in reassurance. "It is all right." I whispered, so low that he alone could hear. "I will not fight it. Do what you must."

     Relief smoothed the creases in his brow and his eyes filled with sorrow and self-loathing. In the eyes of the Chantry, as a former apostate, he was less than nothing, belittled for his gifts and yet used for them. I wondered how many times this poor creature had played the unwilling rapist. I wondered how much hatred his spirit had absorbed.

     _It is not your fault,_ my soul bled. _You are as blameless in this as Kathyra._

     He breathed deep, gathering his power, and I followed his actions. I closed my eyes, willing the walls inside my mind to disassemble, to leave him free to discover what he needed. Pain spiked through my temples, radiating down my nerves like a blast of mage's lightning. It was fiercer than the torture caused by visions, stronger than a sword cleaving flesh, hotter than a branding iron.

     I gasped against the onslaught of agony; I clutched the arms of the chair until my knuckles turned white. The remembered feel of molten metal poured across my skin echoed dimly as the mage rifled through my memories. The scream I could no longer suppress broke through my defenses.

     " _I am here."_ Salem's voice spoke, and tears poured from my eyes, longing for her to guide me through this pain. " _You are not alone, Leliana. I am with you, always I am with you."_

     With that voice came reminders, even as my back spasmed and my nose began to bleed. The first time I had been tortured, there had been nothing but the pain; nothing but the unending agony and betrayal in my spirit. Nothing to cling to.

     _That is no longer the case._

     My heart skipped a beat as the mage continued sifting through my mind, and I screamed, tasting blood in my throat. My eyes fluttered closed and in the bombardment, I found the face of my lover, her smile, her voice, her strength, clinging to our memories as the agony became too much...

* * *

     _Salem stands there, rigid. The edges of her swords quiver as though they vibrate, and I know it is from the shaking of her hands. Her eyes are alight with an unholy fury, grief, and an...unwilling revelation._

_"Stop. This." she speaks and it is low rolling thunder, power and threat and grandeur._

_"Kill her, warden!" Zathrian's unnaturally youthful hand gestures to the Lady of the Forest, who sighs and draws away while the wolves around her twitch in anticipation of bloodshed. "Kill her and **end** my people's **suffering!** " _

_**It is an impossible choice,** my eyes flit from the Lady to the Keeper to the Warden. **Countless crimes have been visited on both of these races. How can she...Maker's breath, Salem is younger than I, and I have not the wisdom to confront this...ancient blood-feud.**_

_"Suffering is what we are accustomed to, warden." the Lady speaks, her voice melodious and hypnotic. "If you see fit to end it with a sword, then so be it. But peace cannot be bought with blood."_

_"Yes, it can." Salem counters, and I flinch, not understanding how she can deny the truth. "If the blood spilled is that of the one who would bring peace. You are correct, Lady. The blood of enemies can bring no true serenity." Salem turns her eyes to Zathrian, who stiffens with anger. "Let it go, Keeper."_

_"No." he growls. "The butchered my son. They **raped** my daughter! **They must pay with blood!** " _

_"For how many years!?" Salem shouts with an intensity I have never seen from her before. It is as though a fire has been lit inside her heart. "Haven't you lived long enough, Keeper? You have witnessed the deaths of those who committed those atrocities, and the deaths of their children and grandchildren and **look at what it has brought your people! They are dying, Zathrian, and you are their MURDERER!**"_

_"Warden," the Lady beings and Salem turns, a palpable grief and fury emanating from her._

_"Do. Not. Dare. Moralize." Salem commands, and I feel as though angels would silence if she ordered them so. "You gained sentience and wisdom and brought your people up from darkness and **still** you let blood stain their hands! You are no better, for you keep perpetrating the crime for which you first paid! There is but **one** way this can end."_

_"No." Zathrian steadfastly refuses, clinging to his staff, pointing its gleaming, sharpened tip at Salem's heart._

_My own heart begins to beat faster as Salem approaches him, step by cautious step, her eyes never leaving the Keeper's. "It is done." she entreats, her voice full of her own pain, her own longing for vengeance and the cruelty of knowing it might never be realized. "Zathrian, it is done. Your children are waiting for their father; they are healed and free from pain, but do you not think their souls are burdened? Do you not know that they weep in paradise as they watch your spirit chained by your own hands, unable to be free?"_

_"My children's blood screams from the ground." Zathrian chokes. "It begs and pleads to see their murderers and rapists undone. It frequents my dreams, warden...the scent of my daughter's blood, my son's hand frigid and stiff with death. Keep back from me, shemlen!"_

_Magic blossoms and Salem turns to the side, letting the lightning bolt scrape across her torso. Her hand does not go to the wound even though I smell the stench of burned leather and scorched flesh. She still stands, firm and beautiful and my heart pounds in my chest with an entirely new fear.  
_

_Salem reaches the Keeper. "Zathrian," she moves the staff aside with a gentle hand and takes the Dalish elf in her arms with a frightening show of emotion that I have never seen from her, "rest. You can rest. Save your people, Keeper. Stay true to your duty, your calling, and **save** them. Forgive the past. Forgive yourself. Too many crimes have been committed on both sides of this conflict. Free yourself from the nightmares. Your **son** forgives you. Your **daughter** forgives you."_

_Zathrian collapses in my warden's arms and she bears him, with great gentility, to his knees. She holds him as the unmeasured grief of decades pours from his eyes._

_"I am...so tired." he whispers._

_"Then let your last act be one of mercy, and rest with those whom you love in paradise." Salem removes herself from the embrace. "The choice is yours."_

_Zathrian looks to the Lady and her people that surround her. Hatred crosses his face, but it is soon replaced with exhaustion and a deeper grief than I have ever seen. The grief of one unable to forgive themselves._

_"I will...I will seek my redemption." his voice quavers and he lifts his staff into the air. "And my people will know..." his voice breaks._

_"Your people will know what you have always wished for them." Salem continues. "Peace."_

_"Yes." Zathrian smiles and his eyes are no longer looking into this world. "Peace. At long last...peace."_

_Lightning spindles from his staff and the cries of the Dalish Keeper and the Forest's Lady echo throughout the chamber. The wolves' bodies begin to buckle and shift, shedding fur and growing skin in a gut-wrenching display._

_I rush to Salem, surprised to find her eyes dry and her hands free from tremors. She turns to me and her expression is calm._

_"I am all right." she assures me, but I want to take her in my arms, press her body against me, feel the beating of her heart and **know** , in my **soul,** that she speaks the truth._

_**Such forgiveness...** I shake my head in disbelief **...it is unf** **athomable. Such depth of thought and** **and belief in the goodness in the mortal heart. I am astounded and I realize...oh Maker, forgive me...Salem Cousland...I could love you. I do...love**_ _**you...** _

* * *

    "Andraste's ass, Cassandra!" Kathyra exclaimed, "get out of my way!"

     I dimly registered the sound of loosening buckles and leather. The restraints that held me vanish and I collapsed forward, into the physician's arms. She cushioned my fall and I glanced around the room, my vision swimming with strange colors and my body aching as though it had been pummeled then tossed into an avalanche.

     Kathyra's cool hand brushed my hair out of my face and I heard Cassandra snort. "Be careful, Kathyra." she warned. "It is dangerous to associate yourself with a heretic. Come, mage," she spat the word. "It is time to make your report to the Divine. Be any less than honest and it will be torturous for you."

     "Wait." I called after them, my voice weak, my throat hoarse, my mouth filled with the taste of blood. "Ser mage."

     He turned to me, still silent, gazing at me with baleful, remorseful eyes.

     _He has never known mercy. He has never known peace. His face bears the apostate's mark and even now, in the Circle, he suffers not only at the hands of the templars, but his fellow mages as well._

     "I..." my heart skipped a painful beat and black waves rippled across my vision, "...I forgive you."

     I did not know if he did so in truth or if my imagination painted a smile across his face as I let my consciousness go.


	33. Love Stops the Ruthless Hand

**Salem**

     "What foul trickery is this?" Nathaniel pressed further against the bars, his grey eyes widening in disbelief. "Maker's blood-soaked breathe! Bryce's brat? Here? In Vigil's Keep? However did this come to pass?"

     _Surely he cannot be so ignorant of the events that brought this strange change in fortunes?_ I thought as my hands clenched into fists. _No...Nathaniel was always fond of what would be considered the bardic arts. He is attempting to deceive me with this incredulous act. He returned to this Keep for a reason, and I **will** know what it is._

     "Do not play with me, Nathaniel." I cautioned him. "I am in no mood for chicanery and half-truths."

     The feigned disbelief in his face turned to disgust and he spat at my feet. "Look at you, all high and mighty. Salem _fucking_ Cousland. I ask for the liege lord and you appear before me. I suppose I should have expected this cruel twist of fate."

     "It is a twist which your father manufactured." I shrugged my shoulders, attempting insouciance. "I had so very little say in the matter."

     "Bitch." Rendon Howe's son flung the word like an arrow. "So impassive, as though nothing touches you."

     "Why? Are? You? Here?" I took a step forward with each word until we stood an arm's length away.

     He smiled and his lips were those of his father's. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I remembered that same smile accenting the sick confession of the atrocities visited on my loved ones by Rendon Howe. I remembered my vow to that viper of a man that _all_ of his children would suffer should they dare cross paths with me.

     _I swore to wipe his bloodline from the face of Thedas, and nothing would give me greater pleasure tan to prevent **any** eyes from having to see that sick, sadistic smile. _

     "Let me out and I might tell you." he curled his lips into a disdainful sneer.

     I grasped his hands before he could pull them away and, keeping his left hand prisoner, I bent back the littlest finger on his right hand until, to my satisfaction, it snapped. A hoarse growl was all that escaped his lips, but when I relinquished him he cradled his hand to his chest, his jaw clenched, the muscle leaping up and down. He seemed a few shades paler, and I could see sweat beading on his forehead.

     "What..." he cried out, transmuting pain into anger. "...what in _hell_ was that for!?"

     "To show you that the cage that hems you in is for _your_ protection." I stated, keeping my voice at an even level, as though what I had done had not yet set my heart racing, nor spiked in me the thirst for blood.

     "Maker's breath, Salem." Sweat began trickling down his cheeks. "What happened to you? There were marriage talks between our families once. When did you become," he gestured to the bloodstained, tattered wreck that was my current state, "this?"

     "Where have you been, Nathaniel?" I ignored his questions and asked my own. "Where were you when Loghain and your father betrayed Ferel..."

     "Seal your whoring lips!" Nathaniel shouted, his pallid skin flushing with rage. "My father was nothing less than a patriot! He fought against Orlais! My family served King Calenhad; my father served Maric _well_! There has _always_ been a Howe near to the throne! _**Always!**_ And the travesty is that I return home to find what!? That my name has been sundered, that _my_ lands have been usurped...I was treated like a _fucking **dog,**_ Cousland! An _**animal!**_ Even **_now!_ ** Even now I am held prisoner on lands that _right_ _fully **belong to**_ _ **ME!"**_

     I gritted my teeth together until my jaw ached, calming the fury in my blood until I could see clearly. The ache between my temples turned to fire and the strength of rage filled me so that I felt no pain.

_Calm, Salem, calm. He was not here. Much of what he knows are the tales that have been adulterated through over-telling. To him I am some monster, some **usurper,** as he claims. His crimes are not his father's crimes. His hand took no part in the massacre of Highever. The blood debt owed to Cousland has been paid...I ensured that myself._

     "Those times have changed, Nathaniel." I spoke, low. "And I apologize that you were forced to return home to this. It cannot have been easy."

     "No." he growled, pacing like a caged panther, still cradling his broken finger. "Do not turn that on me, Salem. Do not portray the vaunted Cousland nobility here. Heavens, hells, and angels. I do not even know what passed between your family and mine..."

     "Your father sacked Highever." I interrupted. "He slaughtered my nephew and let his men rape my brother's wife before they killed her too. He all but disemboweled my father, shot my mother through the heart, and murdered countless innocents. I alone escaped."

     "You're a filthy liar." Nathaniel hissed, venom in his words. "Rendon Howe would never stoop so low. There had to be a reason...there _had_ to be."

     "There was such a reason but it existed only in his mind." I backed away from the cell doors, reining in the anger that longed to rip the door from its hinges and bathe in his blood. "It no longer matters. What is done is done. Amaranthine belongs now to the wardens, and I am the ruling noble of the territory. For good or ill, Nathaniel, you cannot change that."

     "Once again you think you stand above the world." Howe's son spat, pressing his face close to the bars. "I will petition the king. I will go before him and..."

     "The king will not hear you." I shook my head. "No one will hear you, Nathaniel. You've lost everything. Rendon Howe was a selfish fool and he stole _your_ future for his own, ignominious, short-lived glory." He opened his mouth and I lifted a hand. "What did you come here for?"

     His shoulders sagged in defeat but his eyes screamed for vengeance, for someone to alter the past and restore the image of his father...the man who had once been pure and patriotic...to its former glory. What was history for me was so very new to his ears. He would not accept this without resistance, I knew that already.

     "I wanted my family's heritage." he answered. "My grandfather's bow and my father's armor. Although you have probably ordered them burned and melted down by now."

     "I have touched nothing that belonged to the Howes." I assured him, though I could see his disbelief. "And neither will you. Your family name has been dragged through the mud and will be subjected to ignominy. _Rendon Howe **chose**_ that fate. He chose that for himself and his children."

     "You cold-hearted, ruthless..."

     "Tell me, Nathaniel," I interrupted, forcing down the war in my spirit so that my heart burned, "what will you do if I let you free?"

     He stroked the stubble on his chin and thought. "Free? Nobility _and_ mercy, Salem?" he spat again in my direction. "I might come back." he threatened. "I might return. In the dark of night, with you unawares. I spent my time out of this Maker-forsaken country learning so many things." he smiled again and it sickened me. "The art of poison, the sharpening of daggers, the art of assassination. I could be a very _bad_ enemy, Salem Cousland. And who would judge a distraught young man who returned to find his father dead and the man's murderer wearing the title that should have belonged to his son?"

     I sighed. _It is as I thought. He would accept my mercy with all the grace his father possessed...none. I was willing to give Rendon Howe a peaceful death, Nathaniel. And when he thought I might be willing to walk from the dark pit of my soul he splayed out his crimes and he **smiled** at me in the noxious manner that you have inherited. I would have tortured him to death had not the hand of my angel intervened. Had Leliana not been there, had she not made me see reason...I would have lost myself. As it is...here I stand...mostly whole, and willing to be the woman stronger than her desires. Willing to be the woman that Leliana found worthy of love. _

     "Then you have sealed your fate." I told him.

     "Going to murder me like you murdered my father?" he asked, a triumphant leer in his eyes. "Do it, Cousland. I _dare_ you."

     "No." I bared my teeth at him in the mockery of a grin. "You will suffer the same fate as I, after I had _my_ family and lands and title stolen from me."

     "No." he gasped, backing away from the bars. "You cannot...do not do this! I will leave, I swear it, Salem! On honor, on blood, on my father's _fucking_ grave!"

     "I, Salem Cousland, Warden Commander of Ferelden and voice of King Alistair Theirin," I spoke my full name and title, letting death glitter in my gaze as his met my eyes for the first time and realized the folly of his earlier arrogance, "invoke the Right of Conscription. Come the night, Nathaniel Howe, you will join the Grey Wardens."

     "You cannot do this!" he shouted as I turned on my heel and left. "Damn you, Cousland! I _will **kill**_ you!"

     I grasped the handle of the door and turned to him, looking at a pitiful, whimpering coward playing at strength. He did not have it in him to even look me in the eye, much less kill me face to face. It suited him to have learned to kill from behind, like the bloody coward his father was.

     "Even a _god_ could not kill me, Nathaniel. What chance do you think you stand?"

     I closed the door and the guard outside the room snapped to attention. "Guard the prisoner until nightfall, then escort him to the main hall of the Keep. He is to take part in the Joining."

     "Yes, my lady." the guard re-entered the room and I ducked into an alley, grateful that the terror of the night had driven most of the people to a protracted, lengthy rest.

     I fell to my knees and retched, emptying the contents of my stomach onto the ground, feeling bile and acid and bitterness coat my tongue. I clawed my way to my feet and wiped my mouth, grateful that no one had seen my weakness.

     _I could not kill him,_ I realized. _I wanted to, I **longed** to, but no. Your memory, Leliana. It keeps me from giving into my darker __desires. I swear by the Maker, dear heart, if you stood before me at this moment, I do not know if I would take you in my arms or run you through._


	34. Walking with God

**Leliana**

     _I walk on a dirt path, surrounded by a forest of trees that reach into heaven. Golden light dapples the ground and a cool breeze whispers through my hair. I feel as though I should remember pain, as though my heart should be racing with fear, as if enemies are approaching from every side. These are memories and I know they are truth, but I cannot acknowledge that truth, because instead of fear, there is calm. An explicable peace that is not my nature infuses me._

_I grow wary. I am averse to pain. I am not immune to fear. If they are not present in this place, then it is no place where mortals can go._

_The woods clear into an open circle filled with flowers, butterflies dancing from petal to petal, birds singing a sweet, melodic evensong. **It is what Cecile would call a fairy ring.** I smile at the memory. _

_My gaze is drawn to a figure sitting in the grass who stares at me with bright silver eyes. Glimmering indigo hair spirals down her shoulders in soft, decadent curls. Her face is a delicate triangle, a dainty chin is complimented by full lips, a thin, pointed nose, and high cheekbones. Her skin gleams with an unearthly light, as though stars dwell beneath her skin._

_She rises and walks to me, dressed in a gown woven of starsong and moonlight. It shimmers around her, adding to the coruscating aura of an overwhelming...love. She walks nearer and comes almost too close for comfort. Even though she stands half-a-head shorter than I, I am overwhelmed by the power in her energy, and the waves of absolute assurance that ripple from her like water. Her hand reaches out and touches my face._

_" I have been waiting for you." I hear the words, but her lips do not move, save to curve into a smile that threatens to melt me.  _

_**She is speaking with Salem's voice,** I realize as I replay her words. **Is this the voice that I heard during my meeting with the Divine? I do not understand...please give me clarity, dear Maker.**_

_" Your prayer will be answered, child who calls me by the name I have been given." she smiles and I sink to my knees, mouth open, feeling as though my heart has been torn open. _

_**Surely this cannot be,** I struggle for breath, staring up into the kindest face I have ever seen, basking in the radiance and comfort and shock... **I cannot be looking into the eyes of a god. This is a dream. This must be a dream.** _

_" This is no dream." Salem's voice reaches my ears, replying to my **thoughts** , and **still** the woman does not move her lips. " Please, sit with me." _

_The woman...the Maker?...glides to the center of the fairy ring and sits, gesturing to the grass beside her in invitation. I rise on shaking legs and walk in her direction, spun about and battered by a thousand conflicting thoughts. I cannot trace the line of my own reasoning. I have been effectively deafened and muted._

_" Ask of me anything." she speaks, and the words spoken with my warden's voice fill me with such grief. _

_"Why Salem's voice?" I ask the question of least importance. "Why can you not speak to me as you are?"_

_Her smile is gentleness itself; her touch on my hand imparts nothing but peace and love. It is not the touch of a human hand. It does not impart human comfort._

_" You trust this voice. You do not question it. There is such a love and respect in your heart; it leaps at the sound of this voice, and I have no desire to unsettle you. Were I to speak to you in my own voice...your ears would bleed and you would lose all sense of hearing." _

_**Heavens, hells, and angels. Can I even trust this? How can I be certain that this is not some dream inspired by the mage's onslaught into my mind?**_

_" There will be a sign waiting for you when you awaken." she answers my thoughts and I curl into myself, feeling like a child standing face to face with infinite knowledge. "It is something only you will know as new. All others will be unaware. Then you shall know that I am who I say I am, and that this is no dream, nor madness spawned by Beatrix's cruelty." _

_**I have no choice but to believe,** I trusted in my faith, willing myself to accept this as truth. _

_"Then speak, my Maker." I said, lowering my eyes. "I am your servant."_

_Her delicate fingers cup my chin and lift my gaze. She smiles again and her eyes are the radiance of ten-thousand suns. " Tell me, Leliana. What does your world say of me?" _

_"That you no longer speak." the answer falls from my lips with ease. "That you will remain silent until we prove ourselves worthy. The more fanatical say that you will not return until magic has been extinguished from the face of Thedas."_

_" Another Exalted March." the Maker sighs and I turn my head, daring to look at her, to be stunned by the all too human reaction. "That is not my desire. I had hoped...I had hoped that Andraste would bring peace. That she would speak with my words and impart my wishes, but it was not to be. Do you know why, Leliana? Do you know why my beloved failed?" _

_**Andraste failed?**_

_Doubts fill my mind. All of human history wrote the Maker's bride as a woman of integrity and peace, brimming with wisdom and shining with divine light. And yet...and yet I could see where she might have gone wrong. The enslavement of the elves, the chaining of and hatred towards mages. The Exalted March had set a dangerous precedent...that the sole way to evoke change was through violence and bloodshed, one sword pitted against another._

_"I...I have only my guesses, and I am certain that they are inadequate." I stumbled over my response, floored again as I realized that I spoke to a God._

_" She was young, young and pious and devout. She sought me out. In an Age that had forgotten the gods, she sought me out." The Maker's eyes faded back into the annals of the history she had written. _

_**She? Is this form but an affectation, or the Maker's true appearance? How could we have been so...so wrong.**_

_" I am more human than you perceive, Leliana. Mankind...all living things...are created in my image. And I love as you love. I hurt as you hurt. When Andraste perished the galaxies screamed. Rain washed the earth, built rivers, carved canyons...I changed the mountains, plains, and valleys, so great was my grief. I grieved for the love I had lost: the love who had sought me out, only to forget me. I spoke to her of injustice and it was justice that she sought. I spoke to her of unrest and it was peace that she sought. I spoke to her of love...and she did not understand. My greatest gift, my only will...and the one with whom I wanted to share it did not understand." _

_My heart breaks as I witness the tears of a god. They shine in her eyes with the brilliance of the stars; the earth tremors as they fall, and flowers bloom as though grief is a seed that creates beauty. Perhaps it is so...perhaps I am blind to this in the waking world._

_"What did Andraste not understand?" I ask, revealing my own bewilderment._

_" She lost sight of love in the quest against injustice. She marched out to battle in my name; she spoke my words with her voice, and not mine. Her abuse of my gifts has seen my children placed in chains. It has denied them my protection as mankind once again takes my will into their hands. And I have done no better. I have been a silent god. I have abandoned my people as I sought for one who could impart my true message." _

_**Me?** Incredulity fills my mind. **Whatever have I done that would warrant the attention of a silent god?**_

_" It was the words that you said." the Maker stares into my eyes and I cannot look away. "I had trusted you already with a vision of the future, to see which roads you would take, to see what you might learn. And you learned **well** my child. From the moment you said_ ' _I believe that, had the Maker's bride loved her Maker as much as he loved her...she would have survived. The flames would not have touched her skin. She would have been a messiah, not a martyr.'. I knew then that you would understand my desires. Your world and your Chantry lives in fear, but **you** walk without it." _

_"If you truly are the Maker, then you know the fears I do possess." I whisper, looking down in shame. Shame that I, who have been scarred and tortured and broken, who have shed blood without remorse, who has harbored murder in her heart...have been ...have been chosen?_

_" I do." she agrees. "And in every moment, when you are forced to choose between love and fear, you have chosen love." _

_**I had no choice in those moments,** I shake my head, trusting that a god can read the thoughts I am unable to speak aloud. **When faced with Salem's light and love...I could feel no fear in the face of her emotion. Always kind, always understanding...the eternal voice of calm. I have lived off of her strength these last weeks; survived on memories of her.**_

_" Yes." The Maker smiles like a sated lover. "You are beginning to understand. The warden's love for you is as my love for thid world. The love that would allay all conflict. The weight of this knowledge is a burden, and one Andraste could not carry. Her husband loved her...only so long as he could control her. She saw my love...my will...as a demand, which became a quest, and thus commenced the Exalted March. And thus she burned." _

_I can sense the conversation coming to a close, the wounded Maker withdrawing into a shell of silence and solitude and weary, weary hope._

_"What would you ask of me?" I wonder._

_" My visions are my gift to you, Leliana." she takes my hand in hers and the touch burns, though it is not unpleasant._ " _I will show you what mankind would create, and you will be given my power and my words to shape the future that the love within your heart--my love--desires. You are the image in which I shall recreate this world."_

_"How will I know..." confusion fills me and I cannot finish the question._

_" Trust what you have learned." the Maker commands. "Trust the wisdom that comes to you. Trust in the love that has kept you safe from fear. You are close to my heart, Leliana. I will keep you save. Trust me, my child. Trust me as I trust you." _

_"Maker..." one question haunts me and I fear to give voice to it, but I might never again have this opportunity. "...forgive me my impudence, but I must know. What..." tears spring to my eyes, "...what will happen to Salem?"_

_She nods, understanding my worry and my grief. " Salem Cousland has stepped outside of the boundaries of fate." she speaks and my throat tightens. "And her roads have always lain upon darker paths than I would wish for you. She is bound to and yet is immune to destiny. And even to my eyes, her future is unclear." _

_"Is she..." the Maker wipes my tears from my face and I tremble at the touch of her hand, "...is she going to die?"_

_" Yes." the answer sends a knife into my gut. "But only because she is mortal, and all mortal roads lead to death. I cannot answer your question, Leliana. Salem's fate is now her own, and that is all that I can tell you. Now, my child, the waking world is calling your name. Remember my words, Leliana of Ferelden. My silence will soon be at an end, and all the world will tremble." _

_Her hands frame my face and her lips ghost mine with a chaste kiss. My mouth catches fire and flames spill down my throat and into my veins with a roaring, purifying fury, throwing me from the vision/dream and back into the waking world._


	35. Becoming a Beast of Burden

**Salem**

     I emerged from the alley and ran my fingers through my hair, cringing as I felt the grease, dirt, soot, and blood still caked within the strands. Weariness had etched itself into my bones. I felt the weight of lives and securities and safeties on my shoulders once again, threatening to drive me into the earth. That feeling remained the same, but these burdens were...were different.

     _Before, it was all about the fight, killing the darkspawn, eradicating the threat. I did not need to concern myself with the aftermath, the rebuilding. Now...now that is my burden as well. I am responsible for protecting them and for helping them rebuild their lives. I do not know if I am suited to this...yet I must be._

     I trudged up the stairs to the Keep, feeling centuries older than my age. I entered the halls that still stank of smoke and blood. I ignored the stains on the floor and the scorch marks on the walls. They looked too similar to those I had seen when I fled Highever. Even now I had no desire to be reminded of that. I did not believe that I ever would. I leaned against the wall and pinched the bridge of my nose, chasing away ancient nightmares. I could not afford to let such things follow me, though seeing Nathaniel had dredged up every last repressed scar in my heart.

     _Seeing that smile...that sadistic glee in the face of suffering. Tell me, father, tell me...tell me that I will not venture there. Tell me that I am stronger than the impulses of my darker heart. That I can overrule the voice within me that calls for blood. That I can turn my hands, so suited to destruction, to rebuilding._

     I pushed myself off the wall and strode in the direction of the main hall, seeking out Varel. I was certain that there would be a mountain of work awaiting me, no matter where I ventured. A door opened and Mhairi stumbled out, brushing her dark hair out of her eyes. At the sound of my footsteps she looked up and snapped to attention. I did not know why, but the action, normal in any soldier, chafed against my spirit.

     "My lady," her voice was thick with sleep and exhaustion.

     "At ease, soldier." I moved past her, continuing my way towards the main hall.

     I needed to work. I needed to lift my blades or build a house or run...something, anything. Anything to keep my mind from the upcoming moonrise...where innocent people would drink tainted blood and damn themselves for the rest of their unnatural lives. Where Nathaniel would be forced to undergo the Joining, to face death after having everything stripped away from him, as I had.

     _Is it wrong that I wish him to die?_ I questioned my conscience. _Is it wrong that I hope that the Joining destroys Nathaniel Howe and sends him to the same hell as his father, even though he is innocent of the crimes visited on my family? Regardless, whether I chose him for the Joining or execution, I have killed him._

     "Arlessa," Mhairi caught up to me, limping slightly from yesterday's injuries. "I did not mean to be late; I swear it. I was meant to report to you at first light and..."

     "Unnecessary." I lifted a hand to silence her apologies, grimacing as I remembered seeing the sun before falling asleep. "I sent you to rest and you followed orders. If you feel you have lacked in any way, allow me to assure you that you are mistaken."

     "I...uh..." she soldier stammered, clearly discomfited by my informal behavior. Yesterday, it had not mattered, for we were under the threat of imminent attack and death. Today, however, the soldier sought for order, and I could not provide such a thing. "Yes, ma'am. Is there...is there anything I can do for you?"

     "Yes." I spun on my heel and the shorter woman backed away, intimidated. "Were you planning on participating in the Joining?"

     Her eyes widened as though I had rebuked her and I clenched my hands into fists, forcing the anger from my blood. "I...um...yes, ma'am. All of us who came from Denerim intended..." she trailed off, the nightmare of losing her fellow soldiers showing in the taut lines of her lips.

     I inhaled deeply and centered my thoughts, forcing compassion into a heart that beat with wrath. "Please," I locked my eyes with the Denerim knight, "do not."

     She paled and lowered her eyes away from my gaze. "Do you...do you find me unworthy, warden commander?" she asked, lifting her ehad once more in defiance, a soldier to the core.

     "Far from it." I tried to smile, but the movement felt wooden and wrong. "I find you too worthy. You are an excellent soldier, Mhairi. You are capable, you do not crack beneath pressure, and you follow orders with an alacrity that would cause most captains to weep with joy."

     "Then why do you not want me as a warden?" she asked, but it was not the inquiry of a petulant child; it was the question from one warrior to the next, a challenge.

     "Because this life is not meant for one such as you." I rested my hand on her shoulder, attempting to convince the young woman who had impressed me to _choose **life.**_ "It is a death sentence. It is a desperate man's gambit, and you have no need of either of those things."

     "Ferelden's king is a Grey Warden." Mhairi's brows creased in confusion. "You, my lady, are also a warden. Begging your forgiveness, but you are in no position to decry my choice. Those darkspawn killed half of my squad in Denerim, and the other half not hours ago. They...they killed Rowland and I couldn't stop them." Hot, angry tears glimmered in her eyes. "You are a Grey Warden, my lady, and you had the strength to kill them. I want that strength."

     "You have that strength." I tried to convince her. "You have it without the terror of tainted blood. You have it without the nightmares, the shortened lifespan, the sickness crawling through your body. I...I would not wish this fate for you, Mhairi."

     The soldier resumed the infuriating position of attention. "Is this an order, ma'am?" she asked, and the tears dried from her eyes.

     _I could do that?_ I questioned the new reality of my life. _I could simply order this and it would be so? I could...Maker's breath, Salem, rein yourself in. This is not the woman that you are. I have never wished to see another placed in chains. I would never deny another their right to choose. That. Is. Not. Who. I. Am._

"No." I answered. "I will not order you against your heart, Mhairi."

     The shock in her face was evident. "I...I see." she straightened her shoulders and relaxed her posture, much to my relief. "In that case, ma'am, I will see you in the main hall at sunset."

     "As you say." I nodded my agreement, though her final decision broke my heart. "Consider my words at least, Mhairi. That is all I ask. In the meantime, please lend your services to aiding the wounded."

     "Yes, ma'am." her hand snapped up in a sharp salute and I winced.

     She left in the direction of the haphazard infirmary that had been established yesternight and I sighed, trying to ease the tension in my aching body. I watched as Mhairi departed, and tears filled my eyes.

     _So young. So much potential. I would wish this life on no one. Anders has no choice in the matter, it is his only guarantee of freedom. Oghren,_ I smiled, _I have as much hope of deterring him as I have of moving a mountain with my bare hands. Nathaniel...he chose this for his fate, for I could not risk giving him complete mercy, and I have made something of myself as a warden. Perhaps he can do the same, and find his own redemption. But Mhairi...no._

     "Why would anyone in their right mind choose this?" I muttered to myself as I continued my journey to the main hall.

     Exhaustion slowed my steps and I found myself reaching out and placing my hand against the wall for support as the doors to the main hall greeted me. I felt as though I walked in a daze, but soon Varel's voice, and the tone thereof, stunned me from my stupor.

     "With all due respect, Mistress Woolsey, you have _no_ say in this!"

     _Heavens, hells, and angels!_ I sighed and straightened my shoulders, suddenly wishing that I looked less the bedraggled ruffian, and more the Arlessa of Amaranthine. _Once more into the fray._  


	36. A Secret Kiss from Heaven

 

**Leliana**

     Awareness dawned, but slow. I opened my eyes, thanking the Maker for whoever possessed the foresight to close the shutters. Dim light drifted in through the slats of the shades, but even so, dull pain fired through my eyes and into the back of my skull. I winced and licked my chapped lips, feeling a subtle sting. The soft surface beneath me sank as more weight was added. A cool hand came to rest on my forehead and I relaxed as the pain in my skull faded momentarily. I glanced upwards into shimmering green eyes. They smiled.

     "Welcome back." Kathyra smoothed my hair away from my face. "How are you feeling?"

     _Strange,_ I breathed easier, realizing that the voice of my thoughts was my own. _So very, very strange. I think...I think I spoke to the Maker...surely that must have been more than a dream. I could not have conjured that image, those words, with my own imagination, no matter the pain I was in._

     "Thirsty." my voice came out hoarse and I smiled to soften its rough edges.

     "Mind magic affects every body differently." Kathyra searched my eyes, looking for any sign of pain or weakness. "Do you think you can sit up?"

     I took a moment to assess my condition. I felt as though I had come out from under a long fever, but in spite of feeling weak, drained, and exhausted, my mind felt clear and alert.

     "With help, yes." I murmured.

     Her arm slipped around my shoulders and she eased me, slow, into a sitting position. My throat tightened as I thought of Salem, her strength, her painstaking gentleness when I was sick or injured. I thought of the way her warrior's hands could instill such a peace in me and take away pain with a touch. She thought she could not heal, but she believed so very wrong. She had restored the missing part of my spirit. She had made me whole again.

     Tears sprang to my eyes as I remembered her love...her love and what it had brought me to. _A prophet?_ I wondered. _Is this now what I am? Is this my new calling, my new place in the world? Will it take me from Salem? Will the love that earned the eye of god be rent asunder by this new destiny? I have no way of knowing. I have been given the ability to see the future of the world and of others, but my own destiny is so clouded. It is not fair. It is not **right.**_

      "Here." Kathyra pressed a cup of water in my hands and I lifted it to my lips, feeling strange as the glass touched them. "Drink slowly."

     I followed the physician's orders, finished drinking, and Kathyra set the cup aside. She brushed the tears from my cheeks and met my gaze with sympathetic eyes.

     "I understand." she assured me, attempting to empathize with a pain she _thought_ she comprehended. "The memories are...difficult...but the pain will fade with time, I promise."

     "I am fine." I whispered, taking her hand and squeezing it, as if to impart some measure of my own strength. "Are you all right?"

     Shock fired through her green eyes and pulled away, shaking her head as if to clear it. A silent moment passed between us as she stared at me, attempting to come to terms with reality.

     "They are bloody fools, the lot of them." Kathyra declared, a head in her voice that I did not quite understand.

     "Who?" I asked, seeking understanding.

     "Cassandra and Beatrix both." she hung her head and heaved a sigh. "Trying to demonize and discredit you...all the while ignoring who you really are."

     _Does she know?_ I asked myself. _Does she have some as-of-yet unmentioned connection to the Maker? Surely there is a reason that she is in my life; that we have been brought together. I just...I am spun about on gales of change and the one thing to which I could anchor myself is...gone. Perhaps forever._

     "Who am I?" I asked, wondering if the physician could provide illumination, as I was steadily losing my grip on the definition of what I was.

     _I know what I have been. Daughter. Student. Bard. Assassin. Victim. Sister. Warrior. Lover. Wife. I wanted that to be the last of my many titles, but it has been divinely superseded. Prophet,_ the word rang uncomfortably in my mind. _Perhaps I can convince myself that it was all a dream. The mere notion is preposterous, in any case. Andraste was a paragon of virtue, a woman who had done no wrong. I am...anything but...and yet the Maker said that Andraste failed. I am so **confused.**_

     "You are the..." Kathyra bit her lip, as though afraid to continue, "...you are simply incredible. How did you do it, Leliana? How did you find it within your heart to forgive that...that _monster?"_

     "Do you speak of the mage?" I asked, gently redirecting her perceptions. "The very, very human man who took no pleasure in what he was _forced_ to do to me?"

     Her eyes sharpened to knife points. "Magic is _evil_ , Leliana." she spouted the rhetoric of the Chantry.

     _The Chantry has lost sight of the Maker's true heart,_ I recalled.

     "Magic is not evil." I shook my head. " _People_ are evil. _Leron_ is evil, and what he did to you was a sin. But that man in there..he had terror and sorrow in his eyes as he was forced to use his gifts against his will. It broke my heart. I forgave him the sin he _thought_ he committed. In truth, the command to do so came from Beatrix. Hers is the sin."

     "You truly believe that?" she questioned me as I would have questioned myself, had I not witnessed the wonders that I had.

     "I do." I breathed the answer, feeling a weight lift off of my chest as I did so.

     "How did...Leliana, forgive me, but I _must_ know. You have shown me a beautiful heart, kindness unmeasured, forgiveness unheard of, and yet...yet you gave your heart to my sister. Marjolaine did not know the meaning of compassion or of love or of, Maker forbid, forgiveness. So how you...how did...I cannot phrase this question and yet I _must_ ask it." she ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.

     I chuckled and shook my head and what felt, to me, like a distant, distant past. A past that I had moved forward from. A past that, if I searched my soul long enough, I would find forgiven.

     "I was young and foolish." I mocked that naïve, ignorant girl who had fallen for the promise of heaven in canny green eyes. "And Marjolaine was the picture of intelligence and beauty. She may not have had a heart, but I had only just begun to realize the existence of my own heart, and, in that infancy I did not know truth from fantasy or love from infatuation. And thus began my painful road to reality."

     "And you were not embittered?" Kathyra asked, the awe in her voice chilling me to the bone. "Maker's breath...Marjolaine betrayed you and let you be tortured. What you said...the way you treated that mage; the Chantry does not instill such beliefs, and no woman who has endured what you have endured could find, cling to, and embrace such ideals easily. You should not be _able_ to forgive, Leliana."

     "I know." I admitted, saddened by the brutal truth of her statement. "I know I should not be able to forgive, and for years I did not...I did not know what forgiveness was, until it was shown to me. I abandoned the woman I loved, Kathyra. I abandoned her when she was blind and bleeding and when I came back I knew her anger and I saw her pain but then...then I was shown what it is to forgive and felt what it is to be forgiven."

     Kathyra's face fell, but a slight, pained smile quirked her lips. "It seems that everything in your life comes back to the warden."

     "Yes." I acknowledged the beauty and sorrow of her words. "And I wish that I could convey my thoughts without seeming so...so enamored and besotted. But, in truth, Kathyra, Salem is simply inhuman. I watched her look into the eyes of a woman who had her beaten, cut, flogged, burned...a woman who ensured that the open wounds on Salem's body became infected. Salem held this monster's gaze and she said 'I forgive you,' without animosity, without guilt...without that bitch having apologized to her. Her forgiveness was just...given."

     I lost myself to the memory of that moment, recalling the dark hatred and the fear glittering in Cauthrien's eyes. Salem's unearthly assurance as she stood within reach of the knight's powerful and feared blade. The way my warden had smiled at me with such calm and spoke those impossible words, even though she had barely escaped what Cauthrien had done to her. She had almost died so many times.

     "And you wanted that for yourself?" Kathyra wondered, her eyes in a faraway place. "The strength to be, not simply physically stronger, but to weaken your enemies with a force that none can reckon with? You wanted to be like her?"

     "I love her." I nodded, feeling pain coursing through my smile. "And I want to be the light to the world that she was to me. But I...I do not even know how to begin.

     There were tears in Kathyra's eyes as I spoke ineloquent words of love. "You have made an excellent start of it, Leliana. I can assure you of that."

     _Have I?_ I questioned myself. _Is this what...is this what the Maker intended? Is this why I am here, so far from my home and my heart and my love? To evoke change...to show the world that love exists. To transform Andraste's failure into a success. I feel so ill-equipped for this task. I am still so unsure..._

     "You should rest while you may." Kathyra instructed from across the room as she gathered her emotions and re-oriented her thoughts. "Cassandra is in a red fury, and the instant she discovers you are awake, I am quite certain she will drag you before the Divine once again."

     I shuddered at the thought and pursed my lips, feeling once again that subtle stinging sensation. Curiosity overwhelmed me. "Kathyra, is there a mirror I might make use of?"

     "One moment." she rustled around in a drawer and brought me a small, handheld mirror.

     I examined my face, ignoring the pallor of my skin and the dark bruises beneath my eyes. I gasped as I touched my fingers to my mouth and felt the new scar that sliced across the center of my lower lip.

     _There will be a sign waiting for you when you awaken. It is something only you will know as new. All others will be unaware._ I remembered the Maker's words, her lips ghosting across my own with a kiss.

     _I have never before seen this scar, and I have but one way to prove this,_ I thought, my heart beating faster.

     "Kathyra," I caught the physician's attention and returned the mirror, "when she struck me, did Cassandra split my lip?"

     "She broke skin." Kathyra replied. "But nothing more. Is everything all right?"

     "This scar." I gestured to it, a silent plea with the physician to prove me wrong. "I do not remember it."

     Kathyra sighed and sat down beside me once again. "Leliana," she took my hands in hers, speaking with a professional, detached calm that must have taken years to cultivate and achieve. "Mind magic is impossible to predict. You did not resist the mage's invasion, so you might stand a better chance of recovering your memories than most, but it will take time. You have regained consciousness and seemed to recover remarkably fast, and for that I am grateful, but you must not overtax your mind or fret about missing memories."

     My heart sank as I realized what she meant. "So...this scar..."

     "You have had it since I met you." she answered, resting her hand on my shoulder in an act of commiseration. "Now, if it is all right with you, I am needed elsewhere for a while. A templar patrol was tracking an escaped mage and returned with some rather nasty burns."

     "Go." I bade her, looking up as she left. "The mage? Did they..."

     "She is dead." Kathyra answered. "They had no choice."

     "I'm sure." my voice sounded dead and hollow in my chest as the physician departed.

     I collapsed into myself and let my grief overwhelm me. Sobs wracked my body as I wept for the cruelty of the world, the devastation caused by men who would be gods. I cried for the loss of Salem, and my soul shrieked as I realized at last the true weight of the burden my warden had carried.

     _To change a world...to save a world...a world that will not lift a hand to help itself. I have never felt so alone._


	37. No Rest for the Weary

**Salem**

     I strode into the main hall of Vigil's Keep, attempting to keep my posture straight despite the pain shooting through my right leg and burning in the back of my head. Anders and Oghren were in conference between two support pillars. I ignored them. They were not the cause of the shouting that insisted on getting louder and burrowing into my ears. A decided, relentless ache began to bounce back and forth between my temples, moving faster and faster until a band of pain pinched my face and furrowed my brows.

     Varel and an older woman faced off against each other near the fire pit in the main hall. Varel stood, hands behind his back, chest puffed out in a decided position of authority. The woman stood eye-to-eye with him, her back tense, shoulders taut, hands on her hips in a clear display of disapproval. The young soldier I had spoken to earlier and his fellows stood aside, eyes flicking from the seneschal to the woman, clearly confused.

     "I do not know what manner of foolhardiness is taking place here," the woman spoke, and her accent was from no land I had visited. "But I think perhaps you are overstepping your boundaries, seneschal. No warriors are to be let go, not in this critical time."

     I chafed at her words, taking them as a direct affront to my authority.

     _My authority?_ I questioned myself. _When did I begin thinking in these terms? I have never been one given to delegation. Always I...I managed things in my own way. I have never been comfortable with pulling rank, and I never wished to begin to do so, but whoever this woman may be, she has **no right** to interfere. _

     "Varel," I brought attention to my voice, and all eyes in the room turned to me, "What in hell is going on."

     "Are you serious?" the woman turned to Varel, clear disgust stamped on her features. "You let your subordinates run about like ruffians, reeking of sweat and soot and dressed in blood-stained rags? And if _that_ were not enough, you allow them to call you, a man of rank, by _name?"_

     I stopped before the two of them, stunned. Unable to control my reaction, I threw my head back and laughed. The woman's weathered cheeks flushed a furious shade of red and she flung an imperious finger in Varel's face, mouth open to begin another harangue.

     "Enough, both of you." I took her wrist and gently set her hand aside. "Might I have the honor of your name, madam?"

     She said nothing and continued to flay Varel with a glare, clearly expecting him to make introductions and refusing to address his "subordinate" directly. Varel assumed the stiff position of authority and turned to me, his blue eyes shining with a smile. He performed a small bow from the waist and gestured to the stranger.

     "Arlessa, this is Mistress Agatha Woolsey. Mistress Woolsey hails from Weisshaupt, and has been sent here by the First Warden to oversee the economical state of Amaranthine. Mistress Woolsey," he turned his eyes to her, "it is my pleasure to present to you Arlessa Salem Cousland, Warden Commander of Ferelden."

     Varel joined in my rather inappropriate merriment as the woman cast her keen blue eyes from me to the seneschal. "You are..." she stuttered, as though unable to comprehend the information. "You are the Warden Commander?"

     "Appointed by Ferelden's own king." Varel answered, a rich note of pride in his voice. "It was on her orders that I was to send these guards home."

     "Was that the source of the disagreement then?" I asked, watching both of them nod. I pinched the bridge of my nose, indulged my headache for a moment, and sighed. "I see. And what are your reasons for disagreeing with my direct orders, Mistress Woolsey?"

     Her sharp eyes turned to glare into mine and she flinched when she saw the scars there. She covered her initial reaction quickly, drawing up her shoulders and breathing deep, as if preparing for a lengthy explanation. "I will explain, if you will forgive me the error of my first impression, Warden Commander?"

     I lifted my hand to stall her words. "Call me Salem." I instructed her. "You will learn quickly that I possess no love of and have little use for titles."

     Her lips pursed into a thin line and I could tell that my informality displeased her. I could not bring myself to care. I had fought alongside many of these men yesterday. Most of them owed their lives to me. I refused to be the liege lord that would hold that over them and demand their entire loyalty and their lives, for no other reason than my rank and station.

     _I will never allow **anyone's** freedoms to be restricted so that I can lay claim to glory. I would fall on my own sword before I saw that happen. _

     "May I speak freely, _Salem_?" her tone indicated severe displeasure.

     "I would have it no other way." I shifted my weight to my stronger left leg and crossed my arms, waiting.

     "You are young and foolish and will go to an early grave if you do not listen to wisdom." she claimed, gesturing in the direction of the young soldiers. "I arrived here early this morning and have spent the better part of the day scouring the accounts. Amaranthine is a wretched financial mess, and things are going to worsen before there can be any chance of improvement. These men here are under contracts of indentured servitude. They have debts to alleviate and _you_ need to conserve funds. You simply cannot afford to let them go, no matter what claims they have made, what pity they have begged for, those contracts are valid and must stand."

     Anger burned within me as I gazed from Mistress Woolsey's uncompromising countenance to the frightened faces of the young men and women assembled in the hall. Varel shook his head, acknowledging the cruel truth of Woolsey's logic.

     _She is right,_ I molded and twisted my anger into a cold, controlled fury as I had done so many times before. _Amaranthine is devastated. Howe drained the treasury and the darkspawn have cut my fighting force in half. But I need soldiers, not servants, and certainly not children whose hearts are full of fear and anger._

     "I am not immune to wisdom, and you have spoken truly." I forced a smile, watching the faces of the young soldiers fall when they believed I had broken my word to them. "Regardless of what I have done, I am doomed to an early grave. The contracts binding these young men and women are null and void as of _now_. Rendon Howe bankrupted Amaranthine, and I will not rebuild the arling on the backs of those who did _nothing_ _**wrong.**_ " I looked to the soldiers. "You are free to return to your homes and families. However, if any of you wish to stay in service, you may," I glared at Woolsey as she opened her mouth, " _as paid soldiers of the militia"_

     "You haven't the funds to pay the militia." MIstress Woolsey hissed.

     "We will resolve such trivialities later." I growled, wishing again that I looked more presentable, more deserving of the command I wielded and the titles I wore.

     "Warden Commander, I must protest." Woolsey spoke again, loud enough for all to hear, loud enough to make the young ones flinch and question my statements. "There are larger things at stake here than the contentment of a handful of men and women. We are talking about the state of Amaranthine as a whole."

     "You are out of line, Mistress Woolsey." Varel countered, quick to step to my defense.

     The woman bristled and glared at my seneschal. "I was sent here by the _First Warden_ to oversee the state of the arling, and I will not be dissuaded by an archaic seneschal and an _altruistic **child!"**_

     "That _child_ is your Warden Commander!" Varel raised his voice. "You are obligated to..."

     "Obligated?!" Woolsey gasped. " _Obligated,_ seneschal? I am no petty politician to be dictated to. I operate independently and I answer directly to the First Warden and to him _**alone.**_ In matters of fiscal responsibility and management, I overrule even the Warden Commander."

     "I think, madam..."

     _**"**_ _ **ENOUGH!"**_ I shouted and the entire hall went quiet. Servants, guards, and companions all looked to me. Only Oghren did not have a touch of fear in his eyes. I reserved my wrath for Woolsey and Varel. "Let me be _clear_ , Mistress Woolsey." I spoke, my voice a strained knot of anger. " _I_ retain final say on _all_ decisions made. If you or the First Warden has a qualm with my management of Amaranthine, _he_ can speak to me _in person._ I will _not_ be overruled due to what you _perceive_ as youth and ignorance. The situation here is dire, that has not slipped my vision, but I will be _damned_ if I place gold before _my_ people. _My_ people, Mistress Woolsey."

     "Your impudence is..."

     "I. Am. Not. Finished." I towered over her, letting the blood roaring through my veins, have its voice. "This land lay under the grip of a _fucking **Blight,**_ and your first warden did _nothing._ If he thinks to march in and usurp my orders via _your_ suggestions, then he is _grievously_ mistaken. I do not owe Weisshaupt a bloody copper..."

     "You owe Weisshaupt an explanation for the deceased wardens of Orlais." Woolsey spoke with the same grating, imperious tone, although her eyes were no longer as defiant.

     "My explanation?" I asked, fully in the grip of rage. "My explanation for their deaths can be summarized in two words, Mistress Woolsey. _Fucking. Incompetence._ There is _no_ reason under heaven that twelve wardens should not have been able to defend against that attack. Perhaps the First Warden should turn his attention to the caliber of his order before sending blood-draining, miserly sycophants to question my authority. So cease threatening me, cease holding your _vaunted_ position above my head, if you wish your tenure here to have _any_ sort of pleasantness, _desis_ _t_ with the questioning of my orders. Am. I. Understood?"

     "As you wish. My hands are clean. I wash them of you and your filthy altruism." Woolsey stalked off in high dudgeon, back to her ledgers and figures and narrow view of the human condition.

     _Rein in your emotion, Salem,_ I lectured myself, trying to imagine Leliana standing beside me, her calming hand on my arm, her oceanic eyes breathing peace into my heart. _You will have need of Mistress Woolsey's considerable wisdom, and quite possibly soon. It will do me no favors to antagonize her...even if I find her manner distasteful._

     "Well spoken, arlessa." Varel cleared his throat.

     I inhaled, deep, preparing to rebuke him as well. "I will thank you not to fight my battles for me, Varel." I spoke in a gentler tone, one that sounded more myself. "Your support is needed and appreciated, but if you leap too quickly to my defense, you will undermine me, unintentional though it may be."

     "Understood, Salem." he smiled, showing grace, understanding, and tact. I thanked the Maker that he sided with me.

     I swayed on my feet as the anger washed out of me, feeling anguish seep into my spirit and exhaustion press down on me yet further. I gazed toward the young soldiers and frowned and the fear and uncertainty in their eyes. They were so young...too young to have been drawn into the battles of old and embittered men who thought nothing of building their thrones on the foundation of bloodied youth.

     "Arlessa," a young man's voice quavered, "what...what is going to happen to us?"

     "Exactly what I said." I attempted to smile, to sound encouraging, to be better than the fury that wanted to rule me. "You are free to return home, or you may remain. I give you the right to do whatever you wish. Your lives are your own. Speak with Varel to make the proper arrangements." I leaned in close to the seneschal and whispered, "If funds become an issue, speak to me in private and I will make certain they have all that they need." Varel answered with a sharp nod and I squeezed his shoulder in silent thanks. "I must go look in on the wounded and see what information the warden captain left for me. The Joining ceremony will take place at moonrise."

     "It will be done." he promised.

     I turned to leave when a tentative had reached out and touched my arm. I looked back into a pair of clear green eyes that belonged to a girl who could not have been a day older than sixteen.

     "Arlessa Cousland?" she stammered, clearly ill-at-ease with addressing a noble.

     "Speak." I offered.

     "I...I would like to stay." she drew herself up, trying to appear older and stronger and un-intimidated and failing at all three. "I haven't much of a family to go back to, you see?"

     "Are they dead?" I asked, compassion quelling the last vestige of my anger.

     "Bad ma'am." she shuddered, then braced herself. "They're just bad."

     "A soldier's life is not an easy one." I cautioned her, testing her mettle.

     "No, ma'am." she nodded. "It's not, at that." she tried to smile. "But you just stood up for us common folk, and you're a _noble_. It's just not done, ma'am, not even in the tall tales. Makes me think I might have a chance at a better life, servin' an' all. It'd," she cleared her throat and stood at a shaky attention, "it would be an honor to serve you, Arlessa Cousland."

     "I am the one who is honored." I assured her, trying to quell the tears in my e yes at her bravery and earnestness. "Wait for Varel to finish with the others. He will draw up your contract with the militia and report with you to your captain to explain the change in your status. If you are challenged in any way, send them to me."

     "Yes, ma'am." her hand snapped up in a sharp salute, and I returned it, turning away quickly so that she did not see the tears in my eyes.

     _Never,_ I made an oath to myself, _never will I place gold above the lives of men and women. The day I make that fatal mistake, I will forfeit my life and damn myself to hell._


	38. Enter the Heretic

**Leliana**

     I waited in the quiet of the room that was my prison. For what, I did not know. The ache in my head had dissipated, leaving me all too coherent for my liking. The tears I had shed were distant memories, though their cause still burned within my heart. I had been given a mission, a purpose, a reason to be in this world. Though I _hurt_ without Salem, I would attempt to honor her and what she had done, and dedicate myself to this cause with all I had within me, while never forsaking love.

     _There is such injustice in this world,_ I twirled the ring on my finger, my eyes lingering over the carefully engraved rampant mabari. _Perhaps I asked for too much when I asked to take Salem's name as my own. It brings wi9th it its own conscience and mandates. To right wrongs...to keep my word above all else. A legacy of honor. I am part of it now, and still it is such a foreign concept. Salem, how do I begin? I have never been in command of anything, not even my own life._

     The door flew open and I lifted my head, frowning as I gazed into the fiery cinnamon eyes of Cassandra Pentaghast.

     "Get up." her words booked no argument. "Most Holy demands your presence."

     I inhaled, deep and with purpose, calming the beating of my heart. Cassandra had not treated me well, yet neither had she been overtly cruel, considering the circumstances and the information she had of me. In spite of that knowledge, I could not bring myself to attempt to mend bridges. I did not trust the woman, the haughty tilt of her chin, the imperious note in her voice that she assumed was command. The Divine's Right Hand reminded me all too much of Morrigan, but while the witch had not lost her humanity entirely, I did not yet know the measure of Cassandra. To me, it seemed her title had absorbed her, and she would sooner slit her own throat with a dull splinter than forsake the teachings of the Chantry.

     Kathyra told me that Beatrix had done much shaping of Cassandra's character, and I knew when I looked into the black, pitiless eyes of the Divine that the woman adored the Game and loved her power. She had taken the young, passionate Seeker that had saved her from a coup and shaped Cassandra as much as possible into her own image. A woman hardened. A woman heartless. A woman without the Maker's mercy.

     _The Heretic has come,_ I smiled, rising to my feet, feeling a new, untouched power crackling across my skin, _proclaiming a new god._

     The Right Hand placed her hand on my arm and I immediately removed it from her grasp. "Do not touch me." I hissed and my voice rang _cold._

     Cassandra flinched, as though she had been struck, but she had the grace to remove her hand...though she placed it on the hilt of her sword in a needless display of power. "Do not make an enemy of me, Leliana." she cautioned, but her body language indicated that she would prefer I disregard the advice.

     _Not a day ago, I would have needed her warning._ I realized. _But now...now everything has changed. I can feel it in my blood, my heart, my soul. The Maker has chosen a new prophet, Cassandra, and the battle shall be different. There can be no new Exalted March, for love does not raise an army and march across the land. Love is the silent whisper, the flower that blooms between the cobblestones and defies the traffic that walks over it._

     "You do not deign to answer?" Cassandra asked, disgust and enmity in her voice.

     "Refusal to answer often answers well." I smiled at her, sweet, enjoying the bewilderment that quickly turned to malice.

     She increased her pace and nearly shoved me through the double doors that led to the Divine's hall of Justice.

     _Justice devoid of mercy. Piety without pity. Knowledge sans wisdom. Life deprived of Love._

     A new woman walked down the long, intimidating, marble hallway. A woman who had been called, who had touched and spoken with the Maker. A woman who knew secrets that would be considered blasphemous. I had been called, and I would rise to this occasion as Salem had risen to her own calling.

     _I have been given a new name and a new face and a new destiny. I will not falter. I will not let fear dissuade me. I have been given everything I need. I will place my trust in the Maker; I will trust my calling, and I will put my faith in the heart that Salem Cousland opened. It was her love of me that let her pass through to Andraste's ashes. It will be my love of her that inspires a new age of the Maker's grace. Let it begin._

     I bowed before Beatrix the Third, the woman who persisted and perpetuating a failed legacy and a false gospel. I did not make the gesture from respect or out of fear, but simply because this was the new role I had been given, and I was nothing if not a consummate actress.

     "You wished to see me?" I asked, the same saccharine smile on my face as I had given Cassandra.

     "Indeed." Beatrix spoke, rising from the Sunburst throne and descending the stairs. "The mage found nothing in your mind that gave credence to my beliefs. I must admit that I am shocked."

     _And displeased_ , I inferred from her tone.

     "I see." I kept my tone neutral. "You could have saved yourself some effort had you simply been willing to believe my words."

     Beatrix frowned and glowered at me, but her obsidian eyes had lost their intimidation. They gleamed with a hollow, dogmatic light. Others might have taken that light for divine spark, but I knew better. I knew the flames of true zeal, true brilliance, and true divinity. That light, that fire, burned in the broken, scarred, silver-blue gaze of a Grey Warden.

     "I am a woman devoted to the truth." Beatrix claimed. "I cannot take words at face value, for I have seen the depth of the hearts of men, and the darkness to which it can reach."

     I knew she spoke of the one she had trusted, the one who had betrayed her and kept silence, knowing that her judgment of me would come. I was too dangerous to simply be let loose upon the world, but I had committed no crime, therefore she could not order my execution on grounds of heresy. She would have to find another way, and I felt but a small comfort in knowing that the way she found to imprison or cage me, to own me in some way, would be set in place by the Maker's hand.

     _But it will take me away from Salem. It will set her and me upon different paths...paths that may never cross again. If that is the case, and if I should die, it will be neither age nor injury that kills me...but a broken heart._

     "I have enough evidence to convict you of heresy." Beatrix bluffed, but I would not call it out. She could no longer frighten or intimidate me. "But, as I said, I seek truths, unbiased and unblemished. By whatever means, you foresaw the future, and I cannot let such a potential threat walk free. If you were to receive a vision again, amongst us, then the outcome could be effected to a...more suitable end...than we have previously been shown."

     My hands curled into trembling fists as I realized the meaning of her last statement. _A more suitable end...she is speaking of Salem's life. The life that this woman considers an abomination. The light of my heart and song of my soul, the woman whose love captured the heart of **god** is decried by this fool who persists in ignorance. _

     "What would you have me do?" I asked, pretending honor, pretending humility, pretending acceptance.

     Her eyes flashed to mine and latched onto me like a predator about the neck of their prey. "Foreswear all vows that you have made and join with the Order of Seekers." she said. "In this, you will absolve any further doubts concerning the source of your visions, and you shall, at last, do the work of the Maker."

     "Honored as I am, Most Holy, I cannot do as you ask of me." I shook my head, refusing her offer.

     Cassandra's slack-jawed expression would have given me cause to laugh, but Beatrix had asked me to do something that I would _never_ countenance. She attempted to entrap me, to inveigle me into foreswearing my heart.

     I could see Beatrix grappling with anger, but when she spoke, her voice emerged smooth as silk. "Might I inquire as to _why_ you would forego this most illustrious of honors?"

     "You would ask me to foreswear all vows." I took a step forward, committing sacrilege, approaching the Maker's earthly representative without permission or right. I could not bring myself to care. "That would include my marriage vow, and _that,_ your Holiness, is the one thing I _will not_ , under _any_ circumstances, recant."

     Beatrix did not even have the grace to feel shame for having been caught out. Instead, poisoned words slithered from her lips. "But surely, child, you would find yourself happier and more content in the service of the Maker. You would have a family among us, a destiny and a calling."

     My thoughts drifted to the quiet, mirthful nights before the fires at Cousland Hall. I remembered resting my head in Salem's lap and feeling nothing but content and love as she threaded her fingers through my hair. I recalled my utter contentment listening to the banter between Salem and Fergus, the feel of my warden's callused hands in mine as we walked the parapets of the castle, watching the moon rise with one another. I closed my eyes and brought my wife's face to my mind, worn, tired, shadows beneath her eyes, the kiss of a dragon upon her cheek, and scars even in her eyes. I loved her. My home lay within her heart.

     _There is nowhere I would rather be, not even in the halls of light and power. Not even as a hand of the Divine._

     "I have a family." my words were ice. "I have a calling. And while I would be honored to join the Seekers of the Chantry; eager even, I will not forsake the vow I have already taken."

     The lines of Beatrix's face creased and hardened, losing all gentility. "I could render those paltry marriage vows null and void with a quick signature." she threatened me.

     "I made those vows before and to the _Maker."_ I seethed, walking until I stood toe to toe with Beatrix, mere inches from the Sunburst throne, breaking ever law and precedent. "Only when you are _god_ can you strip me of that vow."

     Cassandra's fingers dug into my shoulder and she wrenched me backwards, placing herself between me and the Divine. A bitter laugh echoed through my mind, though I did not give voice to it. I stood on the tight-rope already, hellfire on my one side, damnation on the other. I would have to walk a careful line, but there were some words, some actions, that I would not endure.

     "Most Holy," the Nevarran accent rang thick with wrath, "allow me to punish her for her insolence."

     "No." Beatrix raised her hand as Cassandra strode to where I lay on the stairs. "No. There is no need to break her spirit or injure her body. I will let her cling to her precious, precocious illusion of love and happiness, but she shall pay penance in the service of the Seekers. As of now, Cassandra, she is in your charge and under your command. Make a soldier out of her and I promise that she will see the Maker's truth. Then, she will forsake all else."

     The Divine smiled in perceived triumph, for she believed she had won. I allowed Cassandra to help me to my feet, accepting the grip that threatened to break the bones in my hand. I returned Beatrix's smile, satisfied as confusion swirled in Beatrix's eyes.

     "Welcome to hell." Cassandra growled, with an undertone of glee to her words. At last, she could remove the chafing mask of civility and treat me as she wished.

     I wanted to laugh.

     _Hell, Cassandra?_ I mocked her in my thoughts. _You know nothing of hell. Hell is stitching your lover's skin together. Hell is watching the woman you love collapse in tears and knowing that you are their cause. Hell is sitting in a city that shouts victory while your heart falters at every rasping breath from a savior's broken body._

_You may think you have triumphed in playing the predator, but you do not yet know the gravity of the situation. Your devout belief in your own judgment has blinded you to what you seek above all. The **Truth.** And the truth is this. Andraste failed and the world has suffered for it. I have said this war will be different, but that is because the first was fought by a warrior, a straight forward approach of enslaved against tyrant, good against evil. _

_But I have been chosen, and I am no warrior. I have crippled kingdoms with a sonnet and song; I have killed princes with a well-timed jest. I will become one of you...and I will break the foundation of the Sunburst throne. For, as every bard is instructed from the beginning: you must be inside the beast...to kill it._


	39. Unworthy of Gratitude

**Salem**

     "Hold still." I counseled the guard who lay beneath my hands. "This might hurt a bit."

     With as much care as possible, I cut the bandage from his thigh, examining the wound beneath. The stitching looked haphazard, but that did not shock me. We had very few skilled healers on hand, and Anders' reserves had been pushed beyond the level of exhaustion yesternight. Our more skilled healers had been sent with the severely injured to the Chantry in Amaranthine, which had been built with an infirmary and where the lay sisters and brothers were skilled in the art of mending wounds and tending the sick. I prayed that it would be enough. Too many lives had been lost already.

     "The wound looks good." I smiled at him as I applied a salve to the slightly reddened and inflamed skin. "You should make a full recovery."

     I reached for a roll of bandaging and began to re-wrap the wound. The guardsman nodded and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain as I finished my work. I could see the suffering stamped on his features, and I knew that it was not as simple as mere physical hurt. Many of these men and women lived in or near Vigil's Keep. It had been their homes that burned; their families that were cut down by the darkspawn...the lives that I had not been able to spare.

     _The people that you were too late to save,_ the sardonic voice my failures rang in my head like a clanging cymbal. _The people who are supposed to trust you, who depend on you to bring them back to prosperity. Those who long for freedom from Rendon Howe's insidious reign. And what do you do, Salem Cousland, supposed Hero of Ferelden? You arrive late, with time only to mitigate damage, not prevent it. You allow the son of their liege lord to live on, out of some misguided sense of mercy, even though he threatened your life._

     "Thank you." the man whispered. "It is uplifting to hear good news at last."

      "My pleasure." I felt the chill in the room and covered his body with a ragged blanket. "Is there anything else you require?"

      "News." he opened his eyes, a weary grey gaze. I could not meet it. I had no wish to inflict the scars in my eyes upon an injured man. I could not be so cruel. "I've heard nothing about my...my family." he continued. "I have a wife and a newborn daughter. Lydia and...and Salem."

     My heart caught in my throat and I fought back tears for the hundredth time. My name was not a common one, for names had meaning, and in a land in turmoil, many parents desired to give their children names of strength, names that would help them survive the tumultuous time that was the Dragon Age. My name meant peace...and so very few would give their child the name that described an ideal so very, very difficult to obtain.

     "I will make certain that they are found." I promised him, looking in Mhairi's direction and summoning her with a glance.

     "Yes, ma'am?" she knelt beside me and met my gaze without wavering.

     _She might die this night,_ dark thoughts intervened. _A light too soon snuffed out by the desire to do good...this world is far too cruel to the young._

     "I need you to go into the village and seek out news of Lydia and Salem..." I glanced to the man, for he had not given me his surname.

     "Arin." he supplied. "Lydia Arin."

     Mhairi nodded and rose to her feet to carry out the order. The wounded guardsman looked at me and cleared his throat. I offered him my canteen and he drank, handing it back to me when he had finished. There were others that needed looking after. I was no healer, but I had treated and taken enough injuries to possess rudimentary skills. I could do more good than harm, and thus I would.

     I stood and the world swerved before my eyes. I felt my balance waver and I clenched my hands into fists and closed my eyes, breathing deep for a few moments. When I opened them again, the walls and the world had stopped shifting.

     I began to move to the next patient when the guardsman's hand reached out and grasped my ankle. "No healer gives a city guardsman orders." he rasped. "Who are you?"

     "My name is Salem Cousland." I breathed, and his eyes widened, filling with the muddled and mixed emotions of shame and gratitude.

     "You came." he closed his eyes and a muffled prayer of thanks left his lips. "Maker bless you, Arlessa."

     "Get some rest." I told him, voice hoarse and choked with emotion, shamed by his thanks. "Mhairi will find your family, and if all goes well, you will be reunited with them very soon."

     "Lydia insisted." he continued to speak and my heart pounded in my chest. I needed space to breathe, to close my eyes, to come to terms with the new reality of my position and my history. "She insisted that we name the baby...after you. After a...true hero...I am..." tears slipped down his cheeks and into his beard, "...I am so grateful to you, my lady."

     _Do not call me that!_ My spirit raged within itself, chafing as title after title was flung at me in soft, grateful words. _Please, stop. I am...I am nothing but human, and I have failed Amaranthine so grievously already. I deserve no accolades, no honors, no kindnesses! So please... **CEASE!**_

     The grip on my ankle loosened and I smiled as the man relaxed in peaceful rest. I lowered my head and slunk away from the makeshift infirmary, into a somewhat private hallways. I collapsed against a wall, pinching the bridge of my nose, rubbing the ache from the spasming muscles of my right leg, and forcing down the tears I could not afford.

     _I cannot be weak; I cannot show grief...not when these people, **my** people, need strength. I cannot give into any sort of pain, be it physical or emotional. I must rise above this. I must be better that I am for the sake of others...and I must bear this burden alone. Maker, give me strength, I beg of you. Please. _

     "A warden with bedside manner." a crisp, no-nonsense voice invaded the hallway. "I have never seen such a thing."

     My head began to pound all the harder and I longed to close my eyes and forsake the horror of the waking world for the terror and grief of my nightmares. I no longer desired to be awake, to feel the crushing weight of all that I must do. I wanted to do as Leliana had always asked of me...to be vulnerable. To be human.

     "Is there something you need, Mistress Woolsey?" my voice emerged tired, unwilling to revisit the confrontation in the main hall.

     "Agatha." she knelt before me and pulled my hand away from my face. "You may call me Agatha."

     "You did not answer my question." I pushed myself up the wall, into a standing position, reaching back to steady myself as I swayed.

     "There is nothing that I need, Arlessa, but I desired to apologize for my earlier behavior." her thin lips lifted in a smile. "I am brusque, vicious, and ruthlessly economical, but I am not a heartless wretch."

     Confusion at her words tickled the back of my mind and I stared at her in silence. "Then what..."

     "That performance was for my own benefit." Agatha Woolsey informed me. "You have set a new precedent, Warden Cousland, and on a grandiose scale. Wardens have never held any manner of position in government. Now, one is king, and you find yourself the head of Ferelden's most profitable territory."

     "So you purposefully provoked me to anger?" I asked, feeling the selfsame emotion rise to the surface once more. I would not be toyed with, goaded into emotional outbursts, or manipulated against my will. If this was her manner of dealing with things, I would evict her and send her back to Weisshaupt, uncaring of whatever report she might make to the First Warden.

     "I needed to test your mettle." her eyes trailed up and down my body, as if appraising me. "To see if the woman matched the legend that is growing in leaps and bounds as we speak. I ask forgiveness for provoking you, but it _was_ necessary for me to continue in the performance of my duties."

     A bitter, mirthless laugh spilled from my lips. "And what did you find?" I asked, preparing my mind for another emotional barrage.

     "I found a woman committed to an impossible set of ethics." she shook her head. "While conducive to saving a country, Warden Cousland, it is hardly the behavior required of a noblewoman in this day and age."

     "What do you want from me, Mistress Woolsey." I inquired, while my mind repeated her words in another acknowledgement of my failures. "I cannot be, as you say, brusque, vicious, and ruthlessly economical. Such a thing is not who I am. It is not within me."

     "Then Amaranthine is doomed." she quipped.

     "I think not." I allowed the slow burn of anger to settle in the pit of my stomach. "I have lived as a noble since I first drew breath. My title is not a rank granted by my actions during the Blight. It is my birthright, and I intend to manage things in my own way. However, I would prefer to exercise my rule with your assistance as averse to your reticence."

     "Eloquent." she mused, shaking her head. "But you are certainly not to the caliber of wardens I have had the dubious pleasure of meeting. You know the normal sort of recruit: filth, villainy, a veritable rogue's gallery of miscreants. I must admit, Warden Cousland, I appreciated the scene I just witnessed."

     "Oh? And what was that?"

     "No warden whose acquaintance I have made has ever remained behind to repair collateral damage." Mistress Woolsey informed me. "Watching you has been a pleasant change. I will follow your wishes for a time, Warden Cousland. However, if I feel they are impeding my orders in any fashion, I will inform you most emphatically."

     I extended my hand and Agatha Woolsey took it, wincing as she eyed the latticework of blue and crimson scars, where the blood of dragons had burned my flesh.

     "We have an accord then." I attempted a half-hearted smile. "Thank you for your candor, Mistress Woolsey."

     "If you insist on informality, then you must call me Agatha." she nodded to emphasize her words. "And you look like you could use a healer's touch yourself. You are dead on your feet."

     "Indeed." I attempted a smile, but it turned into a grimace as my wounded leg voiced its displeasure. "However, such luxuries must wait. There is still too much to do."

     "Do not kill yourself in this venture, Salem." Agatha cautioned me.

     "I have died before." I muttered, walking out of the hallway. "I am well aware of my limits."

     Her voice reached my ears as I re-entered the infirmary. "I do not think you are, Warden Cousland."

     I sighed and straightened my shoulders. _I agree with you, Mistress Woolsey. With my whole heart, I agree with you._


	40. Trial by Fire

**Leliana**

     Cassandra led me away from the Sunburst throne, through the labyrinthine passageways and out of the tower. I followed her across the grounds, watching as the people milling about changed in appearance. There were fewer of the white-robed sisters of the Chantry and more armored sentinels, clad in the blue and silver of the templars, or the black and gold of the Seekers. 

     I winced as I saw the enameled golden eye of the Chantry on a black field, remembering another woman clad in black and gold. She had stood, fierce and strong, with the twin rampant griffons of the Grey Wardens standing out on her chest. 

     _And yet she had no pride. So regal, so noble, but I have never seen Salem Cousland speak in arrogance or stand as though a blade would not cut her. These soldiers portray invincibility, but I wonder if they possess the skill to back the veneer. There is so much of this world that I do not yet understand, but I must learn, and quickly._

     "Kathyra!" Cassandra shouted and the golden haired physician looked up, glancing from the Right Hand to me in confusion. "Get her outfitted and to the ring."

     Cassandra planted her hand in the middle of my back and shoved me forward. Kathyra caught me as I stumbled and nodded to Cassandra, who walked away and summoned several other Seekers and templars with a wave of her hand.

     "What happened?" Kathyra asked, guiding me towards the sound of a hammer pounding on the anvil. "Are you all right?"

     A canny smile spread across my face and Kathyra's bewilderment increased. "I have been unceremoniously conscripted into the order of Seekers, and placed under Cassandra's direct command."

     Kathyra stopped and glared at me with a distinct unhappiness in her gaze. "What sort of madness is this? You are not...they cannot...if you were proven innocent, then you should be...well...free."

     I shook my head with regret. "We both know that is not the case. As long as the Divine has reason to fear me, she will keep me close."

     "Keep your friends near you, but bed your enemies." Kathyra hissed out a bardic instruction and spat on the ground. "Forgive my impudence, but you do not seem displeased by this, Leliana."

     "I have my own reasons for wishing to remain with the Chantry...at least, for a time." I grinned, but revealed nothing further.

     _Kathyra has sworn to me her loyalty, but I still do not know how far that vow extends. I must keep the truth to myself, for, as of now, there is still only one other soul whom I can trust implicitly. Until then, I must face what the future holds alone if I am to succeed._

     "You are playing the Game?" Kathyra realized, lowering her voice to a whisper. "With Beatrix? Are you attempting suicide, Leliana? Beatrix is not only cunning, she is _ruthless_. Whatever you believe you can accomplish, stop. Now. Please. If you value your life."

     "I have never lost the Game." I rested my hand along Kathyra's arm. "No matter my opponents."

      _And I have been blessed from on high. The Maker has spoken to me, and I know that I cannot lose, that my steps are guided, and that I will know victory._

     "You might lose this time." Kathyra worried the edge of her lower lip with her teeth. "We received orders this morning, and will depart in three days time. Cassandra wishes to test your weapons proficiency...or so she says. In truth, she despises you, and wants to bring you low in a public setting...she is a master of the sword, Leliana. Fighting her will not be easy, and I am still concerned for your health."

     "You needn't be concerned for that." I assured her as she handed me a pair of fine leather boots and the requisite black and gold livery of the seekers, pulled from the shelves in the smithy she had brought me to. "I am quite well, and quite capable of dealing with someone, even someone as powerful as Cassandra Pentaghast."

     "You need to know that Cassandra operates under her own guidance." Kathyra turned away as I stripped out of the white robes and dressed in my new uniform. "Away from Beatrix, she keeps her own counsel, and she had just been given dominion over your life. I will do all that I can to help you, but you _must_ understand and _respect_ the dangers present."

     I placed my hand on her shoulder and felt the tension knotting her muscles. _She truly is concerned. I have picked a fight with a rabid dog, and must guide my steps accordingly. Even so, peace does not depart from me. I am not afraid..._ I paused, reveling in my final thought and letting it repeat. _I am not afraid._

     "I do." I assured the physician. "And I ask a favor of you, Kathyra, a favor of great importance."

     "Name it." her eyes were fierce.

     I cocked my head to the side and grinned. "Trust me."

     One bard to another, she knew that I had asked of her the impossible. But I had been asked the same favor, and rewarded a thousand times over. My soul had been saved. My heart had been healed. I had grown stronger.

     Kathyra shook her head and summoned the blacksmith with a wave. "Seeker Pentaghast has ordered our newest recruit to be outfitted. In plate."

     The blacksmith eyed me; the corner of his mustache lifted in a sneer. "Plate?" he asked, his accent rough and not from Orlais. "She'll crumple under it. Has Pentaghast lost her bloody mind?"

     "I do not disagree with you, but time is limited." Kathyra explained. "Cassandra does not like to be kept waiting. Plate mail, ser. Now."

     "Imperious bitch." the blacksmith growled and vanished into a back room.

     I turned my eyes to Kathyra. "Were those words for you or..."

     "Yes." the physician answered. "They were for me...and Cassandra. No one would dare say a word of disapproval to her face, but few here bear her any love. Me, however, they can speak to however they wish."

     A touch of Salem's dry, dark humor slid through my mind and I spoke without thinking. "That provides an explanation for your consistent deployment, no?"

     Kathyra stifled a laugh behind her hand as the blacksmith re-emerged, a full suit of plate armor in his heavily muscled arms. He set it on the ground, glanced at me, and shook his head, as though dooming me already.

     "Best of luck, little one." he shook his head and shot daggers at Kathyra. "You'll need it."

     The first misgivings crept over me as Kathyra began to help me into the armor. The metal dug uncomfortably into my skin; the weight of it stole my breath. I had always dressed in hardened leather, trusting my reflexes and bow to keep enemies at a distance. I did not understand the need for the heavy plate until Kathyra finished buckling the last strap. She looked at me, and grimaced.

     "Beatrix is a lover of uniformity, so much so that she has instituted it across the entire order." the physician glowered and her green eyes filled with malice. "Very few are allowed to play to their strengths, and after your display in Cousland Hall, I highly doubt Cassandra will allow a bow in your hand for this test."

     I rolled my shoulders, wincing as the heavy plate gouged into them. "I could not even draw a bow in this." I said, disgusted.

     "Or breathe." Kathyra shook her head and guided me out of the smithy, reining in her pace as I moved in the armor that limited my mobility to an absurd degree.

      _And yet Salem could **dance** in this,_ I thought of my warden, her body in poetic motion as she became one with her blades. _She walked miles and fought battalions of enemies while drowning in metal. Forgive me, my love, for never understanding the truth of your strength._

     "Cassandra _will_ attempt to humiliate you." Kathyra warned me, sotto voce. "She knows you are unaccustomed to heavy armor, and probably less skilled with a longsword. No matter what happens, show no shame in your defeat."

     "I have no intention of being defeated." I claimed, though the words rang hollow in my ears as I began to sweat, even in the light spring heat.

     "Leliana..." Kathyra ran her hands through her hair and sighed. "...you...I have no doubt of your skills, but you will not win this."

      _I will not lose,_ I remembered the fire in Salem's eyes as she prepared to face Loghain. _I thought such a claim ridiculous in that moment; the only options were victory or defeat. Loghain wounded her, drew first blood, blinded her again. All others would have considered her defeated. But she endured. If Cassandra seeks to humiliate me with a show of superior skill, even as she handicaps me with unfamiliar weapons and armor, I can win through tenacity, skill, and...I understand, Salem. At last, I understand._

     "I will not lose." I felt the steel inside my voice strengthen my heart and my resolve.

     Kathyra shook her head once more and guided me through a ring of assembled seekers. They were not armored, but they wore swords at their sides, and looked on with interest. Cassandra stood in the center of the makeshift arena, a sword in her right hand and a shield in her left. The same weapons waited for me on the ground and I knelt to lift them, taking the sword in my left hand and letting Kathyra attach the shield to my right arm.

     _A left-handed swordsman is more difficult to anticipate,_ I began to strategize, _and while I may have little skill with a longsword, I can use my ambidexterity to supplement a lack of training._

     The sword hung heavy in my hands and sweat poured down my face from the weight of my armor, stinging in my eyes and nose.

       "Seekers, Templars," Cassandra raised her voice. "All of you remember this moment, this test of mettle and strength. Welcome the newest recruit to our illustrious order, Leliana Cousland of Ferelden. Stand before us, sister," she turned her eyes to me and they gleamed with intended victory, "and prove yourself worthy of service to the Maker. By His grace."

     "By His grace." all assembled echoed and I chafed.

     Cassandra lifted her blade to the center of her face and swept it aside in a duelist's salute. I returned the gesture and she began to circle me. I lifted my sword, but limited my movements, knowing that my balance had been damaged and dampened by the armor. I followed Cassandra's motions with calculated moves of my own, obliterating her plan to weaken me.

     In a fluid motion, her sword arced up in an overhand strike. I raised my shield to deflect it and the force of the strike jarred and numbed my arm. She pressed the attack and I could not find the strength to counter with my sword. I pulled away and the Right Hand followed, harrying me. Swords and shields clashed together in the dance of block and parry.

     My breath came in labored gasps and the muscles in my arms felt made of lead. I deflected another sword strike and Cassandra lifted her shield and rammed it against me as I had seen Alistair do to countless enemies. Stars encompassed my vision as I fell backwards onto the ground.

     _I cannot...win this._

     I dragged myself to my feet, ignoring the cheers of the assembled Seekers and templars who thought Cassandra's victory assured, and roared for their champion.

     _Salem said she fought like an unskilled child._ I shook sweat-dampened hair from my face and tried to even my breathing. _But Cassandra is **strong.**_ The Seeker came down in another overhead blow and I stepped to the side, watching as Cassandra's blade lodged in the sand of the arena. _And she has made this a contest of strength...which I will surely lose in these conditions._

     I shook the shield I held loose and let it drop to the ground, my right shoulder screaming with relief. Cassandra smiled, believing this a sign of exhaustion. From the corner of my eye, I saw Kathyra bury her face in her hands, unwilling to watch what she assumed would be my defeat.

     Cassandra lifted her sword and I ducked slightly under the thrust, rising as she pulled the blade back. Satisfaction filled me as I felt the edge of her sword slice through the armor's straps. Smiling, the Right Hand discarded her shield, playing directly into my hands.

     She took her blade in both hands and swiped out for my throat. I kept my sword low and leaned backwards, letting the tip of her blade slice through the leather on my opposite shoulder. I winced as it cut a deep furrow in my skin, but relief immediately came as the heavy chestplate, backplate, and pauldrons fell to the ground.

     _Never,_ she lunged and I spun away, parrying the blow, _expect a bard to follow the established rules, Cassandra. Not even in combat._

     Cassandra's blade came down again and I caught it with my own, surprised when the taller woman stepped into the attack and bore down on me. Her face was contorted into a snarl and my muscles quivered as she forced my own sword nearer and nearer to my skin.

     _How did Salem defeat her so easily?_ I wondered, remembering their altercation in Cousland Hall. _Cassandra is fa_ _r more skilled than Salem's assessment first led me to believe. However,_ inspiration struck me and I smiled, _**no one** fights as Salem fights. Cassandra could not combat a style she has never faced. _

     I broke away and spun to the side, then somersaulted backwards, nearly touching one of the Seekers in the outside ring. I rose and reached backwards with my right hand, pulling their sword from its sheath.

     _I know you, Leliana._ Marjolaine's lilting tones rang in my ears. _You have learned the steps of the dance simply by watching the dancer. Combat is no different, so cease over-thinking it. watch me, and memorize my movements. It is simply another form of dance, pretty thing._

     I sank into my memories of Salem in battle: her eerie, artless grace, incredible balance, dexterity, and unimaginable strength melded into one. I clenched both of the swords in my hands and crossed them before me as Cassandra's blade came down for my head. Her sword caught between my crossed blades and I delved into the last of my waning strength, sliding the edges of my swords across hers, throwing her blade backwards and scisorring mine down, catching them under her outstretched arms.

     I lifted my leg and planted it against Cassandra's chest, kicking her backwards into the sand and leaving delicate slashes beneath her arms. She lay there, stunned, unable to rise after her exertions in the heavy armor. I panted for breath as I rested my foot on her chest and placed a sword at her throat.

     "Do I..." I gasped, "...pass muster?"

     The crowd that had cheered for Cassandra's supposed victory remained silent as they saw their High Seeker, bested by a new recruit. Cassandra batted my sword aside with a gloved hand and her eyes screamed murderous threats.

     "Get off of me." she hissed and I stepped aside, letting her rise to her feet. She stalked away and the crowd dispersed in silent confusion.

     Exhausted, I sank to my knees and watched them depart, a stupid, delirious smile on my face. A strong hand grasped my arm and wrested me to my feet. Shock spiraled through me as Kathyra roughly embraced me, pushed me away from her, and glared at me in a mixture of respect and pity.

     "That," she announced, "was profoundly stupid."

     I laughed as I remembered the confusion and anger muddling Cassandra's eyes as she fell backwards. "I know."

     _But somehow...somehow I cannot bring myself to care._

 


	41. The Joining

**Salem**

     I stared into the goblet, swirling the disgusting black mess of darkspawn blood that lay within it. The Orlesian warden captain had left detailed notes behind, containing information on the measures taken to defend Vigil's Keep, the guard rotations, the other eleven wardens who had served under him...and died. He had also left behind a sealed parchment, addressed to me, detailing the exact specifics and requirements for the Joining. While I knew the necessity of the actions I would soon take, I wanted nothing to do with it. 

     _It seems as though Ostagar occurred decades past,_ I thought, staring deep into the cup, as if it could tell me my future. _As though I took that fateful drink in another lifetime. I remember...I prayed for it to kill me. I prayed that I would fall as Daveth did, never to rise again, never to have to lift a blade, to leave grief and pain and fear and wrath behind and rejoin my family. Instead, I survived. I alone._

     I clenched the cup in my fist, bruising the soft, precious metal with the strength of my grip. The torchlight caught the silver of the nightingale, the very precious ring on my finger.

     "It was worth it." I whispered, smiling at the ring and the memories it brought me. "I regret nothing."

     My gaze drifted, coming to rest on the empty vial that had contained a separate blood. The warden captain said in his letter that the vial contained the blood of the archdemon...the god I had slain. My eyes fixated on the crimson scars that roped my left hand; that traveled up both of my arms and spindled across my shoulders and down my chest and back...scars made by this blood. This blood which others would drink in order to become wardens themselves.

     I took the goblet and added the requisite lyrium, watching as the mixture sparked, smoked, and settled. at last, I reached out for the glass vial of the archdemon's blood. I uncorked it, ill-prepared for the assault of memories from the top of Fort Drakon, the blinding white light, the pain in every part of my body...the agony as my spirit fought to be free from my body, hindered by the cruel chain of Morrigan's magic tethering my soul.

     _The screaming. Maker's blood-soaked breath...the **screaming.**_ _Had I not already been partially deafened by the archdemon's roar, the screaming of my own spirit in abject torment would have silenced my hearing permanently. Will a Blight come again?_ I asked myself. _Will those who survive this night be forced to carry the world on their shoulders, as I have done? How can I, in good conscience, doom anyone to this?_  

     Varel's hand came to rest on my shoulder and I steeled myself, adding a single drop of the archdemon's blood to the goblet. The taint in it would outstrip anything to be found in any of the other, lesser darkspawn. It would corrupt the body and soul; provide senses that would allow us to kill our enemies...and spawn nightmares...insatiable hunger...it would kill us eventually.

     "Are you ready, Warden Commander?" my seneschal asked, resorting to the formality of titles in this, the most officious of times.

     "No." I replied, but, though it was the truth, it did not matter.

     The doors to the main hall would open. Those chosen for this dubious honor would come forward. I would hand them this tainted goblet and they would drink, and...and fate would choose who should fall and who should live.

     "It must be done." Varel's eyes held compassion. "For the good of Amaranthine and all of Thedas, Warden Commander, it must be done."

     "And if it were your son, Varel?" I asked as the doors opened and the dwarf, mage, knight, and rogue entered. "If it were rowan preparing to risk his life to accept this curse? Would it still require doing?"

     "No father would feel pleasure at watching his son face this." Varel nodded, understanding my challenge. "But if my boy chose this for his fate, I have no right to stand in his way." The seneschal followed the line of my eyes to the face of Mhairi. His lips creased in a frown. "Just as you have no right to stand in her way."

     I clenched my empty hands into a fist until my nails cut into my palms. "No one should _want_ this, Varel." I lowered my voice as they came closer.

     "There are those who have benefitted from this change, Salem." Varel spoke, and when I did not look at him, I could convince myself that it was Bryce Cousland who addressed me, for my seneschal sounded so like him. "It will not bring to all the suffering that it wrought upon you. You must believe this."

     "And if they die?" I asked. "Who is to blame if they die?"

     "A cruel world." he replied, absolving me from guilt, should I accept his truth.

     I breathed deep and looked at the four men and women assembled before me. Oghren shifted his weight to one leg and crossed his arms, clearly impatient. Anders stared at the cup with quivering lips; I did not know if he desired to find within his freedom or is death. Either way, the contents of the goblet held his only hope. He would be liberated in either circumstance.

     Mhairi's dark eyes shone with hope, a young woman flush with life, searching for the strength that naivety prohibited her from seeing within herself. The strength she sought already existed inside her heart. I wanted to order her from the room, to spare her from the dark fate of the Grey Wardens. But I could not. I would place no one in chains...no matter the hole it might leave in my conscience and my heart.

     _I advised you against this, Mhairi._ I thought, though it would change nothing.

     Nathaniel Howe glared at me with uncontrived hatred in his glittering grey eyes. He chafed against the chains that he wore and shot blistering looks at the two guards who flanked him on either side.

     _You,_ I returned the hate-filled glare he gave me, showing him nothing but utter insouciance. _I want you dead. And if this kills you, I will rest content, for it is a painful death._

     "Are ya waitn' fer the Maker to arrive?" Oghren groused, the only one comfortable enough to speak. "Or am I goin' to have to give you a swift kick to the arse?"

     _Let it begin. Dear Maker, give me strength. Leliana...how I wish you were by my side._

     I sighed ran through the words I had memorized in order to recite them. These words had chilled me to the bone when first I heard them. The moment that I realized I was more than a sword in battle. I would become a weapon forged by the blood of the enemy and the magic of those insane enough to create such things as wardens. The moment I realized that surviving the sacking of Highever was paltry in comparison to surviving... _this._

     "Join us, brothers and sisters," I spoke the words and the hall seemed to darken. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And..." my voice caught, "...and should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you."

     I offered the cup first to Oghren. He sniffed it and smiled before drinking deep of the cup. I waited for him to fall, for his body to thrash, but the dwarf merely stood there, eyes whited over in the trance of first dreaming. He belched and the sound echoed across the stones of the hall.

     I bit my tongue, restraining laughter, realizing that I should have known that all the terrors of the ancient gods would hold no fear for this loudmouthed, drunken berserker. I shook my head in cautious admiration as I handed the goblet to Anders.

     "I...I don't want this." his voice trembled.

     "I can send you back to the Circle, if you so desire." I told him. "But I cannot set you free. It is death, the wardens, or the Rite of Tranquility, but the choice is yours, ser mage."

     Anders took the cup with an almost desperate eagerness and drank, gagging and covering his mouth as he staggered and collapsed to the ground. Varel knelt beside him and felt the pulse at his neck. I waited for the answer.

     _The death is a painful one, but at least, by the Maker's grace, it comes quickly._

     "He will live." the seneschal informed me, summoning two servants who stood in the shadows. They lifted Anders and carried him from the hall and into the infirmary, as they had been ordered to do.

     I crossed to Nathaniel and offered him the goblet. He glowered at me, attempting to intimidate me with his hatred and his greater height, but I remained unmoved. The Joining made all men equal. It reduced us all to a pinprick of shared pain and fear. I would let forces greater than I command Nathaniel Howe's fate. I would not kill him. Not in cold blood for an injury long avenged.

     I lifted the cup to his lips and he drank his sentence, be it death, or life as a warden. He struggled to remain standing. A blood-curdling scream peeled from his lips as he dropped to his knees and collapsed, shuddering, to the floor.

     Varel assessed his condition and jerked his head at the two guards. "He has survived, Warden Commander."

     "Maker bless his soul." I watched as the guards dragged Nathaniel from the main hall, to a room where he would recover and from thence embark on his new life.

     At last, I turned to Mhairi. Her eager brown eyes met mine and she held my gaze, steady. I held the goblet closer to me, unwilling to sentence one with such strength and youth and...goodness...to life as a warden.

     "There is still time to reconsider." I told her, knowing that were any other warden present, even Alistair, they would decry my words.

     _But they cannot understand. None of them have stood where I have been. Not one._

     "No, ma'am." Mhairi stated, her last words on the matter.

     I handed her the goblet and watched as she drank...her skin turned white...the goblet fell from spasming fingers...she collapsed to the ground, mouth fixed open in a silent scream, eyes glassed with...

     I did not need Varel's assessment to know that Mhairi had died. I could feel the power of her spirit departing her body, an anguished cry of great potential murdered far too soon. I knelt beside the young woman, who could have been a great warrior, a good leader, a lover, a wife, a mother...who had set her perceived duty before her own life.

     Tears burned hot at the back of my eyes and, in that moment, I reviled all of life. I reviled the fickle chance that would allow a murdering mage to walk freely, that would let a Howe retain the breath in his lungs...but that would kill someone truly good.

     "She is..." Varel whispered, but I silenced him with a look.

     "I know." I whispered, feeling centuries older than my age. "Leave me."

     "Are you certain?" he asked, concerned, devoted.

     "Out!" I shouted, uncaring of what he might think of me.

      Varel rose to his feet, bowed, and walked away. His footsteps echoed in my hearing as I stared at the pallor of Mhairi's face. I allowed my tears to fall, to grieve for the first flicker of hope that had greeted me amidst the chaos of Vigil's Keep. She had not lost her life in the battle, but in the hopes of finding victory. She had given everything for a stupid dream that _my life_ inspired within her. She should not have died.

     _Hope kills_ , I thought.

     I lifted the young woman in my arms and carried her out of the main hall, to the pyre that I had constructed in a morbid certainty that death would come. _I should know. I have died from hope...and I continue to die. Piece by agonizing piece._


	42. Love Covers a Multitude of Sins

**Leliana**

     I winced as Kathyra's gentle fingers smeared a salve into the shallow slash along my collarbone. The physician offered me an apologetic smile, and I found myself looking into her eyes, seeing beyond the piercing green hue that she shared with Marjolaine. Tiny gold flecks sparked in her eyes, giving them a different light, a kinder presence than the metallic, conniving viridian stare of my former bard-master. 

     Kathyra's cheeks flushed under my scrutiny and she turned her attention once more to the minor wound, dabbing at imagined blood from a cut already closed. I could sense that she wished to speak, that the words hiding behind her lips were important, and therefore I said nothing. I waited and watched the physician examine the cut, assessing whether or not she would need to stitch it.

     "I must ask your forgiveness, Leliana." Kathyra spoke at last, keeping her eyes cast down, intent on already finished work, avoiding my gaze.

     "Whatever for?" I wondered, confused by the words she had spoken, the apology given for no reason.

     After the duel, Kathyra had led me from the sparring grounds. She remained silent while tending to my injury, pursing her lips and occasionally looking up with a disapproving glare. A glare I had seen in Wynne's watery blue eyes when she treated Salem: a strange mixture of affection, regret, and anger.

     "For..." Kathyra sighed and ran her hand through ash-blonde tresses. "...for thinking you might be anything like...like _her_."

     She needed only the slightest emphasis on that word for me to know of whom she spoke.

     _For who else has left scars on both of our hearts...and our bodies...but Marjolaine._

     "What do you mean?" I asked, prompting her for more knowledge, wondering what she might have seen in me that caused her to believe that Marjolaine and I were of similar character.

     "Even as a child, even before we lost our parents, Marjolaine possessed exceptional skills at...dodging." Kathyra smiled as happier memories broke through her still palpable grief. "Dodging blame, dodging responsibility, dodging any emotion that might complicate her life. She became better...or perhaps I should say worse...with training. You remember that particular trait, do you not?"

     Every scar gained in Val Royeaux's dungeons ached at Kathyra's words. I rubbed my arms as gooseflesh rose from a chill in my soul. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

     "I remember it. Bitterly, do I remember it. And thus you thought..." I trailed off, allowing Kathyra to finish.

     "I thought that perhaps you and my sister shared that trait in common." her brows creased in an expression of shame. "You...you were more to her than a simple lackey, and because of that..." Kathyra stumbled over her words. "Marjolaine loved only herself, and I drew the foolish conclusion that perhaps you were so like her that she...but I was wrong. Marjolaine would have seized upon Most Holy's perception of Salem Cousland and tossed the warden beneath the wagon. She would have claimed to have been taken captive, brainwashed, tormented, clinging to falsehoods because of another's demented dreams. She would have been freed, for the Divine would have believed her performance without question. She would have been sent back. You chose to stay. Do you know the manner of honor such a choice requires?"

     "I know." my voice became small, but I needed to share a truth of my own. "Marjolaine found me naive and innocent of the world. She sought to remake me in her own image, but she left enough of my innocence intact. Enough to damn me. When I found out her treason, I told her of it because I was concerned for _her_ safety. The illegality of the deed meant nothing to me. I was...I was not who I am now and you need not apologize for your suspicions, for once...for once they were truth."

     "Thank you, Leliana." Kathyra smiled as she bandaged the wound with great care. "Thank you for...for being who you are."

     I fell silent, stunned by her gratitude, forced to believe her words. I reflected on the truth of what I had told her, and the complete surety with which I had said it. 

      _I was not who I am now..._

* * *

     _I pace on the edges of the camp, far away from even Morrigan's tent, distant enough that the center bonfire is but a candle-flame in my vision._ _I tear my nails into ragged edges with my teeth, revisiting the earlier skirmish...the brutish berserkers and their chilling message._

_**Marjolaine is in Ferelden,** the thoughts repeat in my mind like a death knell. **She is looking for me...and she will find me. She always finds that which she seeks. I should never have let her live. But I cannot face...cannot kill...Maker's blood-soaked breath. I loved her!** _

_My hands tremble and my blood runs cold and tears I do not want are pounding against my eyes and running over them without permission. I curl my hand into a fist and press it against my open mouth, trying to rein in my grief and absolute terror._

_"Leliana," her voice and the earth trembles, "Leliana, are you all right."_

_**That...** my world begins to rip apart at the seams as I gaze into her unreal blue eyes... **that is your first question, Salem? I have told you so little of my life before and now it is confronting me full in the face, and your first question is not how, or why, or what...but if I am all right!? How do you exist!?** _

_"I am fine." I lie, blithely and with great skill. Emotions are a weakness, and Salem's burdens are great enough without adding the weight of mine._

_Her hand reaches out and rests on my shoulder and it is fire against the ice of my skin._

_"Leliana," she says my name with tenderness, and the rough edge of her voice turns it into a song, "I have asked you for nothing. But now there is something I wish from you, and it will be difficult to give, but it is all I will ever desire."_

_My lips open in an apology and my heart begins to break as I realize that I must protect her. I must not let her near Marjolaine. Salem is too important to the world to risk to Marjolaine's demented playing of the Game. Words of sorrow and denial ache in the back of my throat, but only two emerge._

_"Ask it."_

_"Do not lie to me." Salem responds and her arms wrap around me in a warm embrace._

_I tense, waiting for the subtle nuances, the deception, the intimate, teasing caress that does not come. She offers me her strength and desires nothing. Everything about her touch is a gift, and I feel unworthy and shamed, for I do not deserve this, but I do not pull away._

_"Please." she whispers against my hair." Tell me. Trust me."_

_"I...I want to." I breathe, hating myself as I cling to her for warmth, for stability...for comfort._

_**We have kissed...we have spoken long into the night...I have removed my clothes and shown her my scars...attempted to offer her my body when my heart was still afraid...and she declined. Instead, she held me through the night and her hands did not wander. She did not take from me what she sensed I was....and perhaps still am...unable to give. And yet, I have done the same thing unto others...seeking information, seeking trust, only to betray...will you do the same to me, Salem Cousland?**_

_"That you want to is enough for me. "she says, moving her arms away and turning to leave._

_I see the set of her shoulders, the grim determination that defines her. I know in my heart that she will seek out my demons and slay them, as she has done for the rest of the world. Fear fissures through me and I reach for her, grabbing the back of her shirt._

_"No." I say, and my voice is firm. "Salem, no. You cannot do this."_

_"Do what?" she asks, for the first time not attempting to hide the pain in her eyes. She looks at me and realization crosses her face. She smiles and I am captivated...captivated and entranced. "Leliana." my name crosses her lips and mesmerizes me. "You know me. You know the burden I carry, the fires that forged me. I am sworn to defend Thedas and Ferelden from this Blight, and I raise my swords and go into battle accordingly. That is my duty. But for you, dear heart, I would build cities and slay dragons. I would walk deserts with bleeding feet and bring down demons for your sake. **That** is my desire."_

_"Salem..." my voice breaks over her name and she raises a hand in a soft, silencing gestures._

_"I will not raise my blade where it is not wanted, nor tread on sacred ground." she reaches for me, but drops her hand, and it wounds me that my reticence denies me her touch. "I know you have been hurt, Leliana, and that those messengers were sent by the one who wounded you. If you cannot tell me, then I shall walk away and press no further. But I see the torment you are in, and it beats against my ears and claws at my very soul. But these are your demons to face, if you choose to do so. Run, if you wish, but know that, should you choose to look this in the eye, you will no longer be alone."_

_**Run!** my mind screams at me as my heart begs me to listen to her words. **You must run to survive. And you are not strong enough to face Marjolaine. You never have been. Always she has outplayed you...but I was always alone. Salem has never run...not from the taint in her blood or the raving fantasies of a chantry sister in a tavern or the anger of the Dalish or the lunacy of Redcliffe's blood mage. If she offers to stand...I can believe that. I can trust that.** _

_"Salem, wait." I call after her as she departs. "Please."_

_She turns and the hope inside her eyes is scorching. "Yes?"_

_"I am...I'm afraid." I confess, reaching into my spirit and tearing down the walls constructed of fear and inadequacy and betrayal. "I am slow to trust, and there is a light in your eyes when you look at me...and I...I am too selfish to see it fade."_

_"That could not happen." she promises and I strain to believe her. "I love..."_

_"Do not say that!" I press my fingers against her lips, afraid to hear those words again, afraid they will undo me, afraid that the longing that I have to hear them will swear me to silence once more. "Not until...not until you know."_

_"As you say." her tone is neutral, her face expressionless. Only her eyes shine, and I close my own eyes so that I will not see that light extinguish when I at last bare my soul._

_I tell Salem of the Ferelden servant's daughter who became the ward of the noblewoman Cecile. I tell her of the child who learned song and dance from the most skilled of instructors in the palaces of Orlais. I relay the dreams and idle fancies of a child, the casual flirtations and perceived heartbreaks of youth. Tears flood from my eyes as I reach deeply into my past and recreate the face of an angel, haloed in raven tresses, mirthful green eyes alight with intellect and scheming. I confess the love of a naive girl for a new mentor, a girl who fell for cheap seductions and empty promises, because she knew no better. A woman whose hands shook...with excitement...when deadly weapons were placed in them. A woman who became valued for her beauty, and learned to value herself for that alone. A woman who lied for secrets and fucked for power, who poisoned for profit and murdered for a **Game.** A woman who ran and who tried to recreate herself...who succeeded only at hiding.   _

_"All the rest you know." I finish, daring to open my eyes, to see the disgust, the loathing, the disenchantment._

_Instead, there is calm. There is acceptance. There is still that light in her silver-blue gaze. Salem walks to me and places her hands around my waist, drawing me closer to her, pulling my eyes to her own, gazing at me with an intensity that leaves me breathless._

_**Will she break her rejection of me gentle?** I wonder. **Will turning me away cause her any form of pain? Have I hurt the one person who has shown me nothing but kindness?**_

_"Salem..." her finger rests against my lips._

_"That past is done." she tells me, replacing her finger with her lips, kissing me, soft, sweet, chaste. My body begins to burn. "I love you still."_

_It is in this moment I know... **I can face this. I need not run any longer. I am...safe, and...and...I am now who I was.**_

* * *

     I withdrew from the memory and looked into Kathyra's eyes, seeing a kindred spirit there. A woman attempting to recreate herself, who sought desperately to rid herself from the blood on her hands, to do penance for crimes not committed of her own volition. 

     _You can heal, Kathyra. It will not be easy, and there will be so much pain. But you **can** heal._

     "You said we had received orders." I distracted myself from the beauties of the past, the absences in the present, and focused on the duties of the future.

     "Yes." Kathyra nodded, packing away her supplies. "When the Divine was betrayed, when Cassandra became the right hand, the mages at the heart of the attempt escaped in the ensuing battle and chaos. Since that time, those ringleaders, some maleficar, have been inciting a mage rebellion across Thedas. Organized apostates can wreak...such havoc. We have been tracking them for years, eliminating those we can, and we just received a report that their base has been located."

     "It is to be a witch hunt then?" I asked, rising to my feet and wiping sand from my new uniform.

     "Of the most dangerous kind." Kathyra did not smile; showed no eagerness, and my heart burned once more against Beatrix.

     _Kathyra wanted nothing more than to be free of bloodshed. She wanted to heal. But Beatrix, misguided, self-righteous bitch that she is, will use any means to accomplish her end...even if it means crushing the souls of those she has been commissioned to save. Kathyra, I give you my word, I will do whatever lies within my power to see that blood never stains your hands again._


	43. A Woman of Blood

**Salem**

     The flames leapt and danced, unaware and vicious in their purpose. To bear the dead. To carry the soul of the one who had passed. The foul-smelling smoke rankled in my nose, but I could not bring myself to grimace. Tears beat at the back of my eyes, but I did not let them fall. I could not. A soldier did not honor a fellow soldier with tears. 

     _There is a darker side of strength,_ I stared into the fire, unwilling to feel the warmth of the flames. _And it is the side that is most admired. The ability to remain calm in the face of insurmountable odds. The ability to look upon the grief of nations and not shed a single tear. No one ever realizes that it is the slow and inescapable murder of the soul._

     _I had learned to laugh again. I had learned to smile. I had learned to feel the shamelessness of tears. And now, once again, I must forget._

     I clenched my hands into fists, despising my own impotence, my own uselessness. I stood outside the Keep, gazing at the damage from the darkspawn razing: the splintered gates, the charred roofs, the displaced citizens making do with the best they could manage. I had not the first idea where to begin, and those sent to aid me were either too concerned with caring for me or given over to insane tests of my character.

     _And Eamon wished me to be queen,_ my own memories mocked me. _How terrible would it be were I to have accepted the offer and displayed my incompetence on such a spectacular scale? It is enough that these people must suffer for it. They suffer because of me, and I must be their remedy and I do not...I do not know how._

     "I have sent word to Denerim." Varel walked up behind me, his eyes glimmering in the fire's glow. "If any of her family remains, they will know of her fate."

     "Will they know that she was brave beyond measure?" I wondered aloud. I had witnessed the true faces of men. I had seen warriors turn to cowards and ignominious peasants become messiahs. "Will they know that she faced an enemy of such darkness and emerged on the other side, triumphant? Will they be told that her one weakness was her desire for the strength to help her people?"

     "No." Varel shook his head, sorrowful. "But you will know it. People die in war..."

     "I _know_." I growled. "I have listened to every platitude. I have been given every inept comforting phrase known to man. What does it mean, in the grand design of fate? What in _hell_ does it mean!?"

     Varel took a step back as Mhairi's funeral pyre leapt into my gaze and threatened to burn the world anew. "It means everything." he whispered. "And nothing. I am not a man of war, Salem. And you are not a woman of peace."

     "I could have been." I groaned, watching as the fire morphed into a beautiful woman with hair the color or rose-gold and eyes of ocean blue. "Varel, Maker strike me down, I _could have been._ "

     "This world has been far too cruel to the young." Varel's blue eyes shone with kindness and it nearly broke me. "But I have seen in you a strength that surpasses even warriors of legend. Mere mortals would long ago have succumbed to exhaustion, yet you still stand."

     "Join me in shadows where I stand vigilant." I mocked the warden's traditional words. "Vigilant as good women perish. Vigilant as this Keep nearly burned to the ground. Vigilant as I offer a murderer the chance for freedom and let the son of my family's enemy walk free. What good is _vigilance?_ What good is _strength?_ "

     _What good am I?_

     "This introspection will kill you, Salem." Varel warned me, and my knees almost buckled as I heard my father's wisdom in his words. "You need to rest and clear your mind."

     "There is no rest for me." I hissed.

     _My only respite was found in her arms, my only courage in her voice, my only light inside her kiss. Now there is nothing for me but the nightmare, and sleep is almost as torturous as waking._

     Varel opened his mouth to dispute my claim, I was certain, when a young woman rushed to me from the steps of the Keep. The hem of her dress was scorched and her eyes wild with fear.

     "Lady Cousland!" she shrieked, rushing blindly into my arms. I held her steady as she trembled. "Lady Cousland," eyes wide with dread caught mine. "The mage...he's awakened...and he's...he's..."

     "Varel, take her." I shoved the hysterical young woman into the seneschal's arms and raced for the infirmary, ignoring the twin throbs in my head and my leg.

     A roaring wall of fire stood in front of the door to the infirmary, radiating heat. I could only hope that Anders had not immolated the entirety of the room. I gathered the last shreds of my sanity and stepped through the flames, feeling nothing as the magic roared over me, despairing in its uselessness.

     "I _will not_ endure this!" Anders' voice rang clear through the flames. "This is a sin, no better than the despots of the _fucking_ Circle!"

     I emerged through the flames and steppped into the, mercifully, intact infirmary. Anders stood, looking around wild-eyed, twin fireballs held in his hands. Oghren, fully recovered, was standing in the corner of the room, axe in hand, but unwilling to make a move against magic he would not survive. Dwarves were resistant, but he could still catch fire and burn. Nathaniel still lay unconscious, but many of the injured were awake...and afraid for their lives.

     _Most of them have never seen a mage. They are afraid of magic._

     "Anders!" my voice rang across the room as I approached the mage. "What is the meaning of this?"

     "You!" he flung an accusatory finger at me and fire streamed from it, extinguishing against my own shield of dragon's blood. "You _dare_ sentence me to this!? There are voices in my head, warden, a dark chattering of chaos and spiral of damnation and all of them _seek your **blood!"**_

     "Welcome to the wardens." Oghren huffed from the corner. "Yer crazier than a drunken nug, pretty boy."

     "Were the demons not enough!?" Anders screamed, his features contorting in pain and torture. "Is it not enough that I am besieged by the hellions of the Fade, but now the walking, waking demons get to invade my mind as well!? You offered me freedom!"

     "And you have it." I kept the volume of my voice low, so that he would have to calm to hear it. "Do you see the templars? Do you see a weapon in my hand? This is as free as you will ever be, Anders, and the chaos of tainted blood is a small price to pay for a mage."

     Anders drew himself up, naive and worldly-wise, as were most young mages I had met. Mages who had not attained Wynne's level of wisdom. Mages so caught up in the outrage of their plight that they refused to see anything other than their idealized visions of what life should be.

     _I once knew what my life should be, Anders. And it was all torn apart in a night of blood and fire, much like yesternight. I rebuilt; I carried on, and built a new vision of what life should be...only to have it torn away again. I know your pain; I know your fears, but they are surmountable._

     "Take it back." he threatened, the fire in his hands morphing into lightning. "Take back your bloody taint, warden!"

     "I cannot." I shrugged my shoulders. "Nor would I, if I had that power."

     "You bitch!" he raised his hand, crackling with magic, in my direction.

     "Look at yourself!" I shouted, hoping to prevent the attack that would come if I did not speak with utmost care. "Is this what you want, Anders? Look at these men and women! Many of them owe you their lives. You are a gifted healer, a strong mage, and I believe that you have only ever desired the freedom to be such a thing."

     "Until you did this!" he shouted, but the lightning in his hand remained.

     "Nothing has changed!" I entreated him to believe, begging him for the sake of the lives surrounding me. "You are a mage first, and a warden second. I have no desire to strip your gifts from you. I have no desire to force you into the taking of lives."

     "You made me a part of your order against _my will!"_ Anders fumed. "Because mages are no better than cattle! People to be bartered, sold, and chained by the _fearful!"_

     "I am not afraid of you." I walked closer to him, letting the spikes of lightning flicker against my skin, leaving small, wicked burns. "And I think you no less a person for your gifts. I invoked the Right of Conscription to _save your life._ The chaos is a part of that, the nightmares are a part of that, the taint is a part of that! But you are your own man. No one will restrict the use of your magic or the study of the same, unless it threatens the lives of others."

     Realization calmed the frenetic chaos of his eyes. I stood before him, unarmed, making no threats, letting him hold a lethal spell against my chest, and doing nothing. The spell fissured out and a profound exhaustion registered in his green eyes.

     "I hate you." he whispered, but no true anger lay there. _Not yet._

     "I don't care." I replied, taking him by the arm and leading him from the room, nodding at the healers to convince them that all was well.

     _But all is not well. I have a drunken dwarf, a deposed noble, and an emotionally volatile mage under my command. Maker's breath...this is the force with which I am to defeat this new darkspawn threat? Even if they are led by me...by a woman of blood...Maker save us all, for I know not what to do._


	44. Plotting a Course

**Leliana**

     "Our scouts report that the mages have established a base...here." Cassandra's finger tapped an obscure blotch on the map of Thedas spread out on the wall.

     The island in mention stood on the other side of the Waking Sea, standing between the sea and the Amaranthine Ocean. It took all of my willpower not to trace the black lines of the map, whisper my fingers over the land where my warden...my wife...resided.

     Instead, I leaned away, examining the map, remaining silent during the interminably dull mission briefing. I remained quiet, not wishing to anger Cassandra further than I already had. Every time her eyes had the misfortune to look at me, they flashed with anger.

     _If her misguided sense of honor did not overrule her pride, there would have been an unfortunate incident with me, a dark alley, and sharp objects,_ the thought chilled me and I straightened, attempting to appear interested.

     "Have our scouts made it to the island itself?" Kathyra asked, moving closer to the map, green eyes assessing. "Have the mages established an operating base, a camp, as they suspect?"

     "No." Cassandra shook her head. "Though they did manage to run a ship in that area aground, a ship carrying mages escaped from various Circles, and follow those who escaped in the direction of this island. Our intelligence believes they are recouping their losses and will return to their cells across Thedas from their island home."

     "Do you mean to tell me," I spoke up, keeping my eyes carefully averted from the cinnamon gaze that flashed to me in irritation, "that the mages have an organized resistance across all of Thedas?"

     Cassandra sniffed, haughty. "There are many things you are ignorant of, Initiate."

     _Forgive me for my ignorance,_ a sardonic reply slipped through my thoughts. _I was rather preoccupied with stopping_ _the **Blight.**_

     "Cass," Kathyra rolled her eyes, and her chiding tone grated on the High Seeker's pride. The physician turned to me. "There have been cells throughout Orlais, and intelligence leads us to believe that there are other apostates gathering against the Chantry throughout all of Thedas," she narrowed her eyes at Cassandra as the Right Hand opened her mouth, " _though those reports have not been confirmed."_

     "I see." I rubbed my chin, eyeing the island's position. "How many mages escaped the ship?"

     "Enough to be dangerous." Cassandra growled, staring at me, daring me to begin another confrontation. "Any _other_ questions, Initiate Cousland?"

     "No." I stepped forward and shrugged off Cassandra's obnoxious new tendency to remind me consistently of my new ranking. "I have a thought."

     "What is it?" Kathyra moved closer to me, as though being nearer would allow her to easier translate my thoughts.

     "The island is here." I tapped at it's location, dutifully keeping my eyes away from the carefully scribed words that designated Amaranthine. "And if the ship was run aground, the escape would have been ill-prepared for. They would have no way to reasonably separate and survive. I am assuming they fled in but one or two longboats?"

     "Yes." Cassandra growled. "But what would make their separation as improbably as you seem to believe?"

     "Mages cannot fly, High Seeker." I quipped. "And many of them have few survival skills, especially if they are escapees from the Circle. In order to effectively separate, they would require a small fleet of ships capable of long range sails, much akin to the one that they absconded in. Orlais is unapproachable save by the Waking Sea, and other countries too far for a short range vessel, save..."

     "Is there a point you are reaching in the near future?" Cassandra pressed her palm over her open mouth, pretending a disinterested yawn.

     " _Yes_." I hissed. "If the mages' true intention is to separate, then the island is a _previously established_ rendezvous point. If that is the case, then the mages will have a fortified position to protect the ships either already in waiting for them, or being constructed as we speak...and there is a change that they will have several sympathizers who are not magically gifted. Carpenters, shipwrights, sailors, and the like."

     "Preposterous." Cassandra dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "Only fools and sinners would conspire with mages."

     _Then I am a fool and a sinner both,_ I caught the thinly-veiled insult and ignored it.

     "It is not completely out of possibility's realm, Cassandra." Kathyra curled her hair around her finger and bit her lip, deep in contemplation. "The thought behind it is logical."

     "Our scouts would have reported such a base, were it there to locate." Cassandra claimed, complete faith spurring her ignorance.

     "Concealment spells." Kathyra argued. "Lyrium veils, Fade-conjured illusions. There are countless abilities that mages have at their disposal that we do not. A base camp would not be beyond their powers of obscuration."

     "Do you forget, Kathyra, that we have mages among our scouts? They would easily be able to spot such things and would report as such."

     Cassandra's blind dismissal of the truth stoked ire in my heart and I spoke before thinking. "Because _no_ mage would dare sympathize with their apostate brethren?" I inquired. "Certainly not enough to lie to the Seekers and templars who keep them in fucking _chains_."

     "Heretic!" Cassandra spat, and her hand flashed out at me.

     I reached up and grasped her wrist, squeezing the skin until the Seeker winced. "Do not be so presumptuous again." I growled. "The last time you struck me, I was unable to fight back. When you attempted to humiliate me, it failed. Your insults I will tolerate, your consistent reminders of my rank are ill-attempted and forgivable, but _do not dare **think**_ to raise your hand against me."

     "Mind your place, you tale-weaving tart." Cassandra sneered.

     "My place is of higher elevation than you are able to conceive." my own pride shored me up. "I am aligned with you by choice; you are breathing at my mercy, and no amount of intimidation will cower me."

     "You..."

     "Cassandra!" Kathyra intervened, placing one hand around mine, and the other on the Right Hand's arm. "Leliana! Maker's blood-drenched breath, are you tavern wenches disputing a one-night tryst?"

     "I am at my end with your defense of this lying, scheming, heretic!" Cassandra wrenched her wrist from my grasp and turned her ire on Kathyra. She flung an imperious finger in the physician's face. "You have consistently forgotten or ignored your calling and your mission since she first visited her destructive influence on us. I am of a mind to have the mages sift through _your_ thoughts, Kathyra, and expose where your _true_ loyalties lie!"

     Blood drained from Kathyra's face, and her hand that still gripped mine had lost all heat at Cassandra's suggestion. Without thought, I pulled the traumatized woman behind me and faced off against the Divine's Right Hand once more

     "There is no need to drag Kathyra into this." I hissed. "She has done nothing but mediate and show courtesy. Do not forget, Cassandra, that it was she that spared you from Salem's swords."

     "Your warden could not have..."

     " _I_ could have killed you at any juncture during our journey here." I reminded her. "And Salem's skill far outstrips my own, as does her willingness to shed the blood of those loyal to the Chantry."

     Cassandra's eyes flared, but pride filtered in, overtaking the anger. She drew herself up and squared off her shoulders. " _This_ ," she waved her hand at me in a dismissive gesture, "is ended. It does not behoove me to lose my temper before my subordinates. I will plan the mission accordingly and you _will_ follow my orders."

     I turned my attention to Kathyra, whose hand still trembled within my own. "Kathyra," I whispered, placing my fingers beneath her chin and lifting her wide, terrified eyes to mine. "Kathyra, are you all right?"

     Her arms wrapped around me and I held her, stunned by the sudden physical familiarity. "Do you," her voice quavered, "do you...think she would? Cass...Cass has _never_ threatened me before."

     "No." I stroked my hand through her hair, attempting to provide her some form of comfort. "Her anger is directed solely at me, and the Divine has exempted you from her command. You told me as much."

     "I know and yet..." her eyes screamed with nightmares and I realized again how truly vulnerable she was. She hung her head. "That foolish, arrogant _bitch._ " she seethed. "Cassandra is going to send us directly into a dragon's maw. She will ignore your advice and heed the scout's intelligence and there is too great a chance that you are _right_."

     "Breathe easy, Kathyra." I assured her, knowing what she did not, that the Maker herself had assured my safety. And, as Salem had shown me, vows of loyalty must not be one-sided. "No matter what happens, I will not let her threats come to fruition. I will not let her harm you."

      Kathyra stared at me with that disconcerting mixture of awe and fear. "You...you are serious?" she asked, as though no one had ever offered her protection.

      "I am." I promised the woman whose heart needed so desperately to heal. "I swear it."

      She backed away from me, clarity and dread infusing her clear green eyes. "Do not." she warned, lifting her hand to stop me as I stepped forward. "Do not...make me promises..."

    "Kathyra..." confusion riddled me as the physician backed towards the exit.

    "No." she stated, firm and tremulous. "No."

     Marjolaine's sister fled into the dark of the night, leaving me alone and bewildered. I turned to the wall and rested my hand against it, attempting to reason through what had transpired. I lifted my hand and my fingers traced the coastline of Amaranthine; my heart ached for Salem.

     Tears fell from my eyes as I stared at the map. "I miss you." I whispered my grief to the silence. "Salem...I _need_ you, my love. I need you so much."

     I turned my back to the map; the pain of seeing where I could not be was too much to bear. I slid to the ground and hunched into myself, taken aback by the sudden grief, haunted by the absence of the one who had pledged to protect me.

     "I am without you, love." I whispered. "I am without you and I am becoming you, but I am still...too..."

     _Human. Human in ways you never were._


	45. Longing for Yesterdays

**Salem**

     I felt as though I had been awake for centuries, as though years were boulders that had been bound to my back and shoulders. I could not find rest. I paced forth and back across the quiet of my room, watching candles melt bit by bit. A moaning wind struck the Keep, sobbing through my window, echoing my sorrow and my aching and my exhaustion. 

     I ran my hand through my hair, feeling sweat and grime and smoke on my face. My hands stank of blood and death. Such things had never bothered me before...they did now. Varel had told me that I was not a woman of peace, and as much as I longed for it to be untrue, as much as I longed for it to be a misconception...it was true.

     _No matter the instructions received years ago as a child in Cousland Hall, no matter the things I have seen that have made me despise war and bloodshed, such things are what my hands are suited to. But...I saw a different future. In her hands, in her arms, in her words. I could have changed. I could have become a woman of peace, a woman for whom the sword was not the key to the soul's inner sanctum. Now it seems I shall be forced from battle to battle, always at war, but I shall never find contentment._

     I walked to the window, letting the wind carry the scent of the grasses and the sea, erasing the stench of blood, battle, and fire. I rested my chin against the pleasant chill of the stone and gazed toward the moon, daring myself to think of and accept what had changed.

     _My mother, Maker rest her soul,_ a small smile quirked my lips, _always strained to craft me into a lady befitting the nobility. But no sooner was I finished with an etiquette lesson or a fitting with the seamstress than I was dressed in tattered clothing and bullying the soldiers to teach me their craft. It was my father who first put a training sword into my hands, wearing a long-suffering smile and telling me that if I would not be a proper lady, I would be a proper soldier...so that I would at least, for my mother's sake, be **proper.**_

_And I loved it. Damn me into hell, every moment with a blade in my hands, every hunt, ever tournament...I felt **alive.** I felt alive until I was forced to use those weapons to take human life. And when that happened, everything altered. I met those like me, fighters, soldiers, lovers of the sword...broken despotic fools all of them, battling for the sake of contention, provoking peaceful men into strife...I hated them. And I hated that I could become them. _

     I sighed, remembering Varel's guidance...that such introspection would kill me. However, the chaos in my mind would not quiet, pushing my body beyond the limits of exhaustion into a state of near-drunken, stark clarity.

     _My very name means peace,_ the thoughts continued raging, _yet I am a woman of war, a woman of blood. My life defies my own name. there were times, though...small moments...glimpses...fleeting glances and peripheral visions of what I might have been...if given time._

_If given time..._

* * *

_I stand at the perimeter of the camp, allowing myself to smile as Burrow darts in and out of the trees, sniffing after something I can neither see nor hear. He has not barked, so I know we are not yet in any danger. I glance up to the sky, checking the position of the moon. It shines directly overhead, full and glowing...the light that spared our lives.  
_

_Darkspawn, fleeing Ostagar no doubt, had managed to catch up to us on the road to Redcliffe; only the light of the full moon allowed us to see them and fight. The battle had been swift, but not without its casualties. Alistair's shoulder had been dislocated, and the Chantry sister...Leliana...had been struck across the ribs. It was a mercy she had been caught with the flat of the blade. Had it been the sharpened edge, she would no longer be alive._

_**At least, according to Morrigan...who could barely stop insulting the two of them long enough to ensure me that they were not in mortal danger.**_

_I sigh and continue patrolling the camp, keeping watch, coming to a halt when I hear a muffled, accented curse. I approach the Chantry sister's tent, tapping softly at the flap._

_"Enter." her voice is low, strained, and I frown as I enter the tent and examine her._

_Her face is white, her oft-smiling lips turned down in a grimace of pain. Her hands tremor, but what captures my attention are her eyes. They are painted, sheened with the same haunted light that I have seen in my own reflection of late. She looks at me and attempts to wipe the pain and fear from her countenance, and I realize that I should say something._

_"How..." my voice is hoarse from consistent disuse and the recent shouting in battle. "...how are you feeling?"_

_"I am well." she offers me a small smile, but I see through the affectation. I raise a disbelieving eyebrow and her smile widens. "A little cold." she amends._

_"Would you care to join me by the fire?" I asked, as shocked by offering the invitation as she seems to be to receive it._

_**What are you doing?** I ask myself. **I cannot afford...I cannot afford to grow close to those who stand with me. As today has** **unhappily proven, they could be torn away at any moment and I cannot...I cannot lose anyone else. My soul would not survive it.**_

     _"But of course." she moves to stand and a delicate, pained gasp leaves her lips as her arm moves to cover her bruised torso._ _"Maker." she hisses, elevating my concern.  
_

_"Lie still." I caution, moving closer as she relaxes against her bedroll. "May I look?"_

_She nods, but there is apprehension in her eyes. I make certain that she can see my hands as I lift her shirt. I wince as I see that the angry red of her skin has turned to a violet and black bruise that must cause her an immense amount of pain. I wish, not for the first time, that we had a healer with us. Leliana might have had her ribs cracked, or worse, broken. I pull her shirt back down._

_"You shouldn't be moving." I tell her, feeling my heart melt at the beautiful vulnerability on her features. "I will bring you another blanket to combat the cold."_

_"While," she shifts, winces, and tries to even her breathing, "while that might alleviate my discomfort, it will not ease my need for company."_

_"I make exceedingly poor company." I shake my head. "And you need to rest."_

_"Alas, the luxury of sleep is denied me." she narrows her eyes and uses my words from several nights ago against me. "Please." she asks, and I feel my determination to let nothing and no one near me falter. "I do not wish to be alone." she whispers._

_It is not within my heart to deny such an honest request and I shake my head at my own foolishness as I move closer to her and place one arm beneath her shoulders and another underneath the bend of her knees. I lift her and a bolt of lightning strikes through as I walk, with great care, towards the roaring fire._

_**This...feels...right.**_

_I struggle to find something to dispute the truth of my thoughts, to argue against it, call it nonsensical, the product of exhaustion and relief...but nothing comes. All that I continue to realize is that her body, anchored in my arms, causes such a sense of peace that I feel I might shed tears._

_I set her against the ground with painstaking care, pulling one of our many satchels to support her back. She smiles at me in gratitude as the fire warms her and her pale cheeks take on a touch of color. I smooth the blanket around her and remove my cloak, placing it around her shoulders. I freeze as her delicate hand with its archer's calluses grasps mine._

_"You have gentle hands." she breathes._

_Against my will, my heart begins to beat faster. "Gentle hands, callused heart." I quip, grateful that she cannot see my tormented expression, or the blood rushing to my cheeks._

_"Somehow I doubt that." she looks up at me, but mercifully relinquishes my hand. It takes all of my willpower not to press it to my chest and feel the heat from her skin still lingering. "Those with callused hearts would not shy away from touch. They would embrace it, encourage it... **use** it."_

_I can hear the pain in her voice, though I do not know what manner of sorrow causes it. I only know that my own pain screams inside my chest, begging me to let it heal, to let it go, to begin to live again, speak again, smile again. But the emotions are too raw to lay to rest, the cry for vengeance screams at me each night, and bloodshed alone assuages the fire in my spirit._

_"I am sorry." I sit across from her, trusting Burrow to alert me should anything dangerous approach._

_Confusion creases her brow. "Whatever for?"_

_"For whatever caused you pain just now." I reply. "You spoke as one...experiencing great sorrow, and while I may be but an ignorant sword-wielder, I am not without my observations."_

_A strange gleam enters her eyes and she shakes her head. "You are much more than a wielder of swords." she tells me. "And perhaps too astute for safety, no?"_

_**I am nothing more than a wielder of swords,** the depressing revelation strikes me. **The Joining forged me into a weapon of destructive force. I have sworn myself to this new destiny, and there is naught left for me in this world but sorrow and pain. So why,** I find myself entranced by the sight of Leliana's hair in the firelight, **why do I find myself so desperate to bel** **ieve her.**_

_"You are too kind." I speak platitudes, ill-at-ease with the ache in my chest, the longing to look into her eyes and speak of the past and the future and the world's cruel uncertainties._

_"It is a learned trait." her words have a glint of darkness and self-deprecation. "Not inherent as it is in others."_

_Her meaning is clear and I frown. "Kindness is not my nature."_

_She shrugs her shoulders; winces. "I may be but a lay-sister, Warden Cousland, but I am not without my observations."_

_I hang my head, trapped once more with my own words. "Observe as you will then." I mutter. "Far be it from me to stop you."_

_I rise and turn away from the fire, on the pretense of investigating the distant rustling, which I know full well is Burrow returning from his hunt."_

_"Your name means peace." Leliana speaks. "And that is what I feel when I am near you. In battle you are a consummate warrior, but here, in the firelight, there is a gentleness in your spirit and a kindness in your bearing. I do not know which you truly are, but I admit I am in awe of both."_

_**Stop. Speaking.** I feel as though an arrow has gone through my chest. **I cannot be who once I was. I cannot harbor those same desires. I cannot be the child named i** **n hopes of peace, for war has come again, and my hands are suited to a blade.**_

_"Good night, Sister Leliana." I turn away from her and deafen my ears to words they long...need...to hear. "I warned you of my poor company."_

_**This cannot be afforded,** I clench my hands into fists and walk to the camp's perimeter, away from the fire and warmth and her **intoxicating** eyes. **Even though I want...I want nothing more...than to live up to my name...to be a woman who can hold the awe of...** my eyes flit to Leliana, still sitting before the fire... **someone so beautifu** **l.**_

* * *

     Realization struck me with all the force of a mage's fireball. Leliana had weakened my walls, seen into the ruined fortress of my heart, and melded both the warrior and the woman into one. I shed blood only when warranted, sought calm wherever I could, solved disputes with diplomacy instead of violence. 

     _In my own way, I **have been** a woman of peace,_ I thought. _And how foolish I have been to forget that truth. I will cling to it, dear heart...for your sake. So that when you return, you will still have cause to love me._


	46. The Gifts She Gives Me Still

**Leliana**

     The knock at my door came at sunrise, as I had suspected it would. I rose from the bed and combed my hair into some semblance of order as I answered it. 

     Cold green eyes met mine. "We're moving out." Kathyra spoke, averting her gaze. "Get dressed and meet me at the armory."

     She moved to leave and I reached out to stop her, resting my hand on her arm, feeling her flinch. "Kathyra, is everything all right?"

     The physician looked haunted and drawn, as though she had not slept well, and what sleep there had been was riddled with nightmares. I knew that affliction all too well, for it reigned over me and my lover. 

     "I'm quite well, thank you." she refused to look at me and detached my hand from her arm with great care. "A little tired is all."

     "You are hiding something, I can feel it." I kept my voice low, lest the others who shared this hall hear what they had no need to. "And I fear I have offended you, or hurt you somehow."

     "No." she cleared her throat and jerked her eyes to mine and away several times. "It is not...well...it isn't you. I promise. I need...need time to..."

     "I understand." I offered her my calm in hopes to soothe her confusion. "I will be ready shortly."

     She backed away from the door and I closed it, pressing my forehead against the smooth wood, aware that I had done  _something_ to damage the physician's composure. 

     _It cannot be as simple as Cassandra's threat. Although Kathyra is terrified of mind-magic, her reaction went far deeper than simple fear. Why would she...why would she shy away at the promise of protection; why would she distance me as a friend when she was the one to encourage the bond? I do not understand._

     I dressed quickly in the black and gold livery of the Order of Seekers, washed my face, secured my wrist sheathes, and made my way to the armory. I frowned seeing only a straggling templar here and there, nowhere near the manpower that would be required for Cassandra's expedition. I shook my head at the strangeness of it all, and entered the armory.

     Kathyra stood at the wide counter, speaking in animated tones with the short, diminutive elf behind the rough wood. The scent of forge-fire and soot filled my nostrils and I bit my lip as it reminded me of Salem, how she always smelled of steel, copper, and salt.

     "Do you jest!?" Kathyra's tone sounded wrathful and her fist slammed onto the wood in an uncharacteristic show of anger.

     "I apologize, mistress." the elf backed away, visibly cowed. "But this is the exact order that the Right Hand put in this morning."

     "This is a bloody outrage!" the physician fumed, and I went to her, determined to know what had caused this change in Kathyra's nature.

     The elf backed away, even though a wide expanse of wood separated her from Kathyra.

     "It's quite all right." I assured the armory worker as her eyes widened. "Kathyra, what is happening?"

     "Are you certain this is the correct order?" Kathyra signaled me to silence with a raised hand, but I allowed it for I heard her tone soften.

     "Yes, mistress."

     The fact that the elf, who dressed in the same livery as Kathyra and I, called the physician "mistress" grated against my soul. Somehow, the human race had become tyrants, ostracizing those who lived below us, enslaving those who lived with us...imprisoning those who frightened us.

     "Damn that insufferable, arrogant shrew!" Kathyra cursed, turning to me and waving a sheet of parchment in my face. "Ten sets of armor, ten swords, ten shields! Ten templars!" the physician raged. "A _single_ squad of templars against at least the five mages we _know_ for a _certainty_ escaped."

     "That is nowhere near enough." I shook my head, despairing at the show of Cassandra's pride. "Although..."

     "I do not want to hear it." Kathyra hissed, and I could see a flicker of Marjolaine's fire in her eyes. "I do not wish to hear about how a single woman fought darkspawn and felled a dragon! Do not _regale_ me with the tale of how your _lover_ killed a god! _Most_ among us are mere mortals, Leliana; there _is no ' **although** '."_

    I took a step backwards, shocked by the vehemence of her words and her wrath against a woman she had met but once, and fleetingly. 

     "That...those were not the lines of my thoughts." I defended myself, raising my hands in hopes to ease the emotional onslaught that I did not understand.

     "I do not believe you." Kathyra muttered, stalking towards the door. "Cassandra is the Right Hand of the Divine. You are a threat to her faith, but she is also afraid of you, afraid that your connection to the Maker might be _real_. She won't acknowledge her fear because of her anger; she is too proud to listen to reason at this moment and, therefore, she is going to get us _killed_."

     "Kathyra, I..."

     "Get what you need and go to the docks." Kathyra interrupted. "I must attempt to hammer some sense between Cassandra's ears, but I believe her vitriolic hatred of _you_ has sealed our demise."

     "And your vitriolic hatred?" I asked. "Is it also directed towards me?"

     "Yes." her lips turned down into hard lines...softened. "No." she shook her head as if to clear it. "I do not...do not know...perhaps...I..."

     "Go." I bade her, saddened by crimes I did not know I had committed. "Do what it is that you must do. We can speak later, when both of us are in a proper frame of mind."

     Kathyra offered a curt nod and rushed out of the room, leaving me along with the near terrified elf. I exhaled and turned to face her, smiling as graciously as possible, in spite of feeling rather thorny about any who wore the eye of the Seekers.

     "I apologize for the disturbance we must have caused." I told her, grateful as her features eased away from wide-eyed terror. "And I apologize for the way you were treated by physician Kathyra. I believe I am to blame for her distemper."

     "It is all right." the elf hastened to speak. "Truly, mistress."

     I winced and pursed my lips. "Please," I moved closer and she did not back away, "call me Leliana. Or Initiate Cousland, if you must stand on formality."

     "As you wish, mistr...Miss Leliana." she amended with haste. "What do you need? Lieutenant Kathyra informed me that you would require different weapons and armoring than the templars or Seekers?"

     _Strange that Kathyra would request such things for me when I have obviously angered her. I do not know what to make of this. I am well aware of my faults, and willing to admit any misdeed, but this outstrips my comprehension!_

     "I will require my leather armor." I told her. "And my weapons. All of my blades, but especially my bow; it is of recurve design, engraved with this symbol." I held my hand out to the elf so that she could see the signet ring.

     Her eyes widened, but not with fear. " _That_ bow?" her voice seemed awed. "Right away, mis...Leliana."

     She dashed into another room and returned, laden with my armor, daggers, concealable weapons, and Eleanor Cousland's bow on her back. I equipped my self with haste, dreading the certain confrontation with Cassandra over its wear, as it bore neither the colors nor the emblem of the Chantry Seekers, something against Beatrix's order for uniformity.

     _That can be amended, however. Uniformity might be achieved, but not now._ I thought. _Sing Cassandra seems bent on killing us already; I will not be weighted in plate and wielding a sword I am untrained in like a fool begging for death._

     The elf aided me with buckles and straps, handing me my daggers and watching as they disappeared into various hidden sheathes and clever layers of clothing. When that was finished, she handed me the bow, almost reverent in her actions.

     I took it, running my hands over the curves, tracing the almost living body of the rampant mabari engraved on it. The quiver settled over my back with a familiar weight, but it was the bow that held my attention, and the elf's. 

     "It's got magic in it." she whispered. "Lieutenant Kathyra had me squirrel it away so that Seeker Pentaghast wouldn't find out. I...I excel at hiding things." she smiled, and I realized that the gift she spoke of was far from mundane.

     The elf had magic, Dalish magic, difficult to trace and all but impossible to see unless one knew what they sought for. Because of this, I looked at her with a warier eye, and saw a sheen across her features, something more than the normal sheen of sweat or oil. If she removed that sheen, I knew that I would see vallaslin upon her face. 

      _Cassandra, you blithering idiot,_ I smiled.  _You've a mage directly under your nose, working for your order, yet you vaunt your skills and credentials and...this would be laughable were it not so tragic._

     "What sort of magic?" I wondered aloud, examining the weapon further.

     Salem had confided to me that she came from Tevinter heritage, an old family of cursed magisters who had been forced to flee. They had fled to Ferelden and lived with an altered name that became one of the most beloved names in the country. It was a well kept secret. A secret that I would carry to my grave.

     "It's got unnatural power." her eyes lit up with wonder, all fear erased when she realized her secret was safe in my care. "Enough to punch something as primitive as a stone arrowhead through plate armor and then through chainmail. It has enough power to penetrate even the strongest magical shield. Fools will attribute it to the recurve design, but it's been enspelled, very carefully, with magic that had to have been lost to this Age. Because, in addition to the power it holds, it has also been bound."

     "Bound?" I inquired, having never heard the term when speaking about enchanted weapons.

     "It's tied to the bloodline." the elf whispered, conspiratorial. "Anyone can carry the bow, string it, and care for it. However, if someone, not of the bloodline who enchanted the weapon or those they granted their name in marriage, should attempt to draw it, it would be the last deed they accomplished in life. The bow will kill anyone not of the bloodline or of the granted name."

     _Maker's blood-soaked breath,_ I stared at the weapon, my wife's parting gift to me, to protect me...but it was not the bow which procured my safety. It was the far, far greater gift she had given me. _Her name. Her lineage. Something pure, something good...and so very, very **powerful.**_

     "Salem," I whispered, transfixed. "Thank you, my love."

     I thanked the elf and left the armory in a daze, gripping the bow as though it were a lifeline...as though it were my warden's hand.


	47. That Which Must Be Done

**Salem**

     I walked into the main hall of the keep, sighing as Varel bolted from his chair, standing with his arms behind his back, a position of anticipation.

     "Sit down." I ordered, taking my seat and appraising the three that sat before me.

     Mistress Woolsey busied herself with poring over the ledgers and parchment sprawled before her, a disturbing tangle of ink and figures that I wanted nothing to do with. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks for the First Warden's thoughtful provision, though I disliked his intervention in my personal matters.

     Directly across from me, a young man, a young soldier, sat at attention. He wore lines on his face that I was certain had been stamped there by the trials of the past harrowing days.

     At my right, ever faithful, and looking better for a night's rest, was Seneschal Varel, a ledger of his own sitting closed on the table. I attempted a smile, accepting the dull ache in the back of my head. It had not faded during the Blight, and I felt certain I would have to become accustomed to it once again.

     "Morning's greetings, arlessa." Mistress Woolsey spoke, a genuine warmth in her tone that surprised me. "Did you rest well?"

     "Quite, thank you." I lied, knowing that I looked like those driven made who knew no sleep at all. In spite of that, I did hope that the evidence of my untruth was not stamped too blatantly on my features.

     _I could not find sleep, too awash in the thoughts of the morning's work. But I am here, and my mind is relatively unclouded...I can collapse later._

     "Then let us get to it." Woolsey replied, immediately flipping through the pages of the most imposing ledger I had ever seen, mumbling to herself and tracing columns of figures with her fingertip.

     "I must beg your indulgence." I lifted my hand to forestall her, turning to the young soldier. "I am afraid we have not been introduced, ser."

     He rose from his chair with an alacrity that startled me. Varel smiled, stood, and placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Arlessa Cousland, this is Captain Garevel, commander of the guard of Vigil's Keep."

     "Well met, Captain." I waved him back into his seat with a gesture. "Please, sit. I am certain you have been on your feet quite long enough."

     He sat and the three of them eyed me, waiting for...for something. _For you to be what your bloodline dictated for you,_ my thoughts chided. _Father, help me now. I have no idea of where to begin, and they are looking to me for guidance._

     "Captain Garevel," I addressed the soldier, trusting my instincts, "you witnessed the attack on Vigil's Keep firsthand. Have you found any sort of information on what might have precipitated the attack, and why the Keep was vulnerable?"

     The captain straightened in his chair and I averted my eyes from his, having forgotten in my exhaustion the fear often inspired by my gaze.

     "I am no warden, Arlessa Cousland, and I cannot account for the movements or decisions of the darkspawn, but I've had my men cover every inch of the Keep. There's a slew of tunnels beneath the Keep, and the evidence recovered suggests that darkspawn burst through the Keep from within, while the gates were still sealed."

     I nodded, having suspected as much. "Anything further?"

     Garevel nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We don't have the manpower or the expertise to begin exploring those tunnels, but there's rumors that a squad of Legionnaires are somewhere nearby, having chased the darkspawn here clear from Orzammar after the Blight ended. Not to be forward, but if we could locate them, we'd stand a better chance of navigating and clearing the tunnels."

     I did not need to know which Legionnaires he spoke of. Alistair had received reports from King Bhelen, informing his majesty that the Legion of the Dead had hastened to finish the work of the wardens, driving the darkspawn from the Deep Roads and splintering their forces. If the rumors were true, Garevel's thoughts had merit.

     "My first goal is to prevent another attack on the Keep and the cities of Amaranthine." I stated, earning a nod of approval from all three of my staff. "Have your men seek out an effective way to seal the tunnel entrances inside the Keep. Use any means at our disposal, be they mechanical or magical. Send messages to the city guard captains to seek out similar weaknesses in their cities and apply the same measures; I will personally sign and seal those missives to ensure their credibility. Also, send out scouts to locate these Legionnaires. Once located, I will approach them myself."

     "Understood, ma'am." Garevel stood and saluted, exiting the room, intent on carrying out his orders in the manner of a true soldiers.

     "Mistress Woolsey?" I turned to the older woman, frowning at the quizzical grin on her lips.

     "We might pull through this yet." she said, earning a deeper frown from Varel. "Here is the situation as the figures portray, Salem. Amaranthine is bankrupt. Howe spared no expense to fund his and Loghain's coup. Taxes are high, and the vassals have increased their territories' taxation to comply with their standard of living in addition to funding Howe's madness. Due to the level of tariffs applied, trade has slowed to a trickle, which is crippling in and of itself. In addition, the main thoroughfare through the arling, the Pilgrim's Path, is beset by bandits. Rumors have it that the forest itself is rising against any who wish to peddle their wares or play their trade, and the city guard is spread too thin to even substantiate the reports, much less oust the bandits."

     I pinched the bridge of my nose, attempting to find a solution to the myriad problems I had inherited. "All right." I placed both of my hands on the table. "To the matter of taxation..." I gathered my thoughts and prepared for the storm, "for the next year, Amaranthine will pay nothing but the King's taxes. Send missives to all the vassals...tell them that all trade tariffs are to immediately be revoked, and that their respective territory will take in no revenue via taxation. Leave the gold int he hands of the people and it will flow into the economy."

     "You're mad!" Mistress Woolsey exclaimed. "While your plan has a delightful aesthetic, you simply cannot end taxation...the greed of people too long impoverished will take hold and seed rebellion."

     "The gold they hold tightly fisted will return to the treasury when the year's amnesty is ended." I held my ground, uncaring as to whether or not her vehement disagreement was another one of her tests. "Rendon Howe broke the spirit of Amaranthine. He took the work of honest people and turned it to dust. Write the missives, Mistress Woolsey. I will affix my seal and take the consequences as they come."

     "The banns and lesser lords will not thank you." Varel cautioned me, ad I nodded.

     "I am aware." I sighed. "But liege lords can be replaced. It is much harder to replace an entire populace of people who have been worn thin by the machinations of evil men."

     "And what will you use to rebuild the damaged Keep?" Mistress Woolsey demanded, throwing her hands into the air. "Good intentions? Altruism? Archaic ideals?"

     "Gold, Mistress Woolsey." I smiled at her. "I have amassed quite a tidy personal fortune. I will not hoard my own wealth while the people go hungry because they have been unjustly burdened."

     The treasurer's eyes sharpened. "How _tidy_ is this amount?" she inquired, her eyes and Varel's turning to mine.

     "Dead dragons do not cry for their hordes." I smiled as their eyes widened.

     Agatha Woolsey smiled as she realized that I was easily the wealthiest woman in Ferelden. "Clever girl." she grinned, closing the massive ledger. "You would sacrifice a fraction of your own personal wealth and earn the love of your people...but there is still the matter of vassals deprived of their luxuries."

     "You have observed me these past days." I looked to the both of them. "What luxuries have you seen me claim?"

     Varel chuckled under his breath and Agatha Woolsey muttered what sounded like a string of vaguely insulting epithets.

     "If I am not mistaken," she said, with a hint of reprimand, "you are still clad in the same blood-stained rags in which I first met you. Your hair is unkempt, your face is pale as death, and you reek of smoke, blood, and dirt. I would say that you should participate in the partaking of _basic **necessities.** "_

     "Then you have further entrenched my point." I smiled. "No vassal should hold a higher standard of living than their liege lord."

     "Shall we all follow the example of a tattered ragamuffin?" Agatha inquired, eyebrows raised in incredulity. "By your command, Arlessa, I shall leave this briefing and attend to the much more _vital_ task of appearing as though I were raised by gypsies in a mudflat."

     Varel's chuckles turned into a full, raucous laugh, and I could not resist my own smile.

     "I promise that I shall bathe and dress and attempt to comport myself in accordance with my station." I assured her with mock solemnity, and Varel's laughter doubled him over."

     Mistress Woolsey wagged a finger at me, but even her thin lips quivered upward in an unwilling smile. "See that you do." she managed to sound chastising before dissolving into a fit of decidedly uncharacteristic chortles.

     Varel calmed and rubbed moisture from his eyes. "On a more serious note, Salem." his tone became grave. "We have received finalized casualty reports. I will not go into it at the moment, but I will say that of the dozen wardens, only eleven were confirmed dead. There is a record of one of them, Kristoff, having left to investigate."

     "Investigate what?" I asked, my interest piqued. Another warden, one older and with more experience, would be a vital asset at this moment when I was scrabbling to hold everything together.

     "It did not say, nor did it say where he was going. However, he was not residing within the Keep. He had taken a room at the inn in Amaranthine. There is a chance he is still alive, and that is where I would begin your search, were I you."

     _A warden,_ a small tendril of hope flickered in my quickly flagging spirit. _Experienced, seasoned, one who could lead the new wardens in my stead while I attend to the arling. Another hand to train them would be beneficial. A chance to ease this new burden. And yet...no. I could not, in good conscience, give my attention first to this._

     "As you say." I rose and looked to Mistress Woolsey. "Agatha, please draw up those missives to the banns and lords and have them delivered to my rooms for signature and seal. Also, draft a message to Teryn Cousland in Highever. My gold is secured in his vaults, and he will facilitate the moving of it to Amaranthine. Varel," I turned to the seneschal, who rose from his seat, "we need carpenters and masons brought here immediately. See to the rebuilding of the outlying homes first, then see to further fortifications of Vigil's Keep. Enlist Garevel for advice should you need it. If you are worried about coin, pay on my word, and I will see gold in the hands of those who require it."

     "And you, Arlessa?" Varel inquired, looking too deeply into my eyes, seeing the exhaustion that desired to claim me for his own.

     "I will take the new wardens and seek out the bandits on the Pilgrim's Path." I looked to Agatha. "Mistress Woolsey is correct. In order to rebuild, trade must flow...and my first duty is the protection of my people. Dismissed."

     I departed for my quarters, pleased to realize that the sharp pain in my injured leg had quieted to a dull ache. I heard the low sounds of Varel and Mistress Woolsey in conference as I left. I could only hope that they were murmurs of approval.

     _I am so filled with doubt. Though the Legionnaires could provide a quick end to the darkspawn, and while the missing warden could ease my personal burden...I am a Cousland. And when we are besieged, we know but one thing to do. Defend those who cannot defend themselves._


	48. An Intractable Leader

**Leliana**

     A chill shuddered down my spine as I saw the ship waiting in the harbor. The white sails hung listless in the still air. Even the flag at the top of the mainmast, gaudily embroidered with the Chantry's golden star, drooped and lay still against the wood. I did not understand the foreboding that filled me as I stood in the harbor, but it crept in nonetheless.

     _Perhaps it is simply that, due to lack of constant use, my instincts have dulled...but it would still seem there is something overt and deliberate about the lack of planning here. The small contingent of Templars. The unknown number or movements of the escaped mages. Cassandra's continued wrath. Surely the Divine would sense the pride in her Right Hand and curtail it, knowing that arrogance in battle will surely lead to defeat._

     I shouldered my belongings and strode up the gangplank onto the ship, enjoying the sensation of the gentle, rocking boat, as well as the oft-missed sounds and smells of the sea. I sought out the captain, a man with greying hair, a tremendous beard, and braided moustaches that reminded me of Oghren's. I smiled as I approached him.

     "Seeker," he nodded, his voice smoke-laced and whiskey stained, "what kin I do fer ya?"

     "Tell me, captain," I sidled up to him and leaned against the mast, striking a suggestive pose, "is this a Chantry vessel, or were you commissioned for the sail to the island?"

     The captain pulled up his tattered leather breeches and spat on the deck. "It's my ship, but Chantry gold's no less tainted than anyone else's. What business be it o' yers?"

     "A simple inquiry as to why such a brave seafarer, who takes such obvious pride in his vessel, would allow another flag to be run up his mainmast." I asked, coy, reaching up and running my fingers along his well-muscled shoulder.

     The captain laughed and leered at me with canny grey eyes. "'T'ain't rightfully none o' yer business." he waved me away. "Got warnin' some redhead tart would be askin' me questions she ain't got call t' be askin'. So by my reckon, ya oughtta take yer 'inquiries' up wit' the one as hired me."

     _Well played, Cassandra._ I nodded at the captain, who had confirmed my suspicious. "I assume I will find her below deck?"

     "Right you are." the captain winked.

     I found my way below decks, securing my bow and quiver in a separate cabin. I would not let Cassandra touch anything that Salem had given me. I would not let the Right Hand's prejudicial pride disarm me, especially seeing as she did nothing to protect her subordinates.

     _Cassandra is too old,_ I frowned as I rechecked my concealed weapons, making sure nothing had been tampered with, _to stand as tall as she does, and forsake all the sense and wisdom of others. The Divine has done too reckless a thing in making Cassandra her right hand. And yet, once the title is given, only the Divine's word or death can revoke it. Therefore, I must tread with great care, moreso than before, for on the open sea, I have nowhere to run._

     I walked through the underbelly of the ship, pausing and listening at the door when I heard the rise and fall of Cassandra's harsh, Nevarran accent. It lacked a razor's edge and I inhaled, deep, preparing for confrontation while begging the Maker for wisdom.

     "Enter." she called.

     I opened the door and stepped into the cabin, keeping my eyes on hers, but softening the set of my shoulders, lowering my head, attempting to seem as non-threatening as possible in order to set her at ease. The attempt did not appear to work. Cassandra's brow creased and her lips turned down at the corners.

     "Is there a reason you are disturbing me?" she asked, rising from her chair. "Initiate Cousland?"

     Ren, the mute Seeker, stood behind her, hand straying to the hilt of his sword. Kathyra, the one who had consistently held Cassandra at bay, and therefore Ren, was nowhere to be seen. In this instance, I was grateful for that fact. The words I needed to have with Cassandra did not need the physician present to hear them.

     "Indeed there is." I spoke, measuring my words with care. "I have not come to confront or to argue. I have simply come to ask."

     "I am under no obligation to provide you an answer." Cassandra replied, and Ren nodded in agreement.

     "I am well aware." I nodded. "As I am aware of other things. You have a vendetta against me, Cassandra, and I am afraid that I have done nothing _but_ fan the flames of your disdain. Perhaps it was arrogance on my part that made it so, but I am not foolish enough to risk further incurring your ire, with especial consideration to the fact that my life is soon to rest in your hands and under your command."

     The words, my confession and lie, burned against my lips. I felt no regret for the way I had treated the Right Hand. My arrogance and pride was paltry in comparison to her own.

     "You have still asked me nothing." Cassandra folded her arms across her chest, attempting an insouciant, commanding posture...failing miserably, for I had seen a true commander, a true leader, and they commanded with their actions, not words, bravado, and puffed chests.

     "Why are you attempting to kill me?" I asked, enjoying the surprise that flew across her dusky, cinnamon features.

     "I am not..."

     "Please, do me the courtesy of telling the truth." I sighed, leaning against the wall, overt in portraying my lack of fear. "I do not need confirmation of my beliefs, simply the reason behind why they are true."

     "Very well." Cassandra nodded, an unwilling glimmer of respect flitting across her eyes. "You flouted a direct order from the highest power in Thedas. You allowed your abomination of a lover to draw swords against the Maker's appointed Seekers. You have done nothing but show disrespect for the laws and edicts set in place by God, and you have steadfastly set out to deceive one of the faithful. And when you were given the offer to foreswear your chicanerous marriage vows and clear your name of iniquity, you flung the offer back in the face of the Maker's chosen vessel. My orders and vows prevent me from laying a hand on you myself, but my eyes would remain dry were any ill to befall you, Leliana Cousland."

     _I **am** the Maker's chosen vessel. _My hands clenched, but I could not reveal this truth, not to one who already thought me a heretic. I could not expect belief of every soul...such claims could not be proven or substantiated at this point. All I possessed were my visions and my scar, which none other could see for its truth.

     _Not even Salem. Even she...even she, if we should ever look upon one another again...will not recognize this mark for what it is._

     "Is this the reason that you are blatantly flying the Chantry's colors as we go to greet an unmeasured enemy?" I inquired. "Or the reason that you are bringing with us a single squad of Templars, and only one physician?"

     "No." Cassandra shook her head. "We have the blessing of the Divine. The Maker will protect us, for our cause is just, and the reports of our scouts are accurate. I do not dead in underhanded schemes, unlike yourself. But I cannot blame you, Leliana. You have been deceived and corrupted; you have had your soul and body invaded by an unconscionable evil..."

     "Say no more." I warned her, straining to keep a rein on the hanger that bubbled beneath my skin and boiled through my veins. "I beg you say no more. I will _not_ tolerate you continually speaking ill of my wife."

     "That woman is a cancer on the land, and her life is an affront to the Maker." Cassandra hissed. "I will not keep my peace until you see your way clear and swear a Seeker's proper vows."

     _Salem has stepped outside of the boundaries of fate,_ I remembered the Maker's words...words that held no condemnation, no hatred, no lack of love. _And it was Salem's heart, and the love that she inspired within mine, that earned me the Maker's gaze. The opinions of Cassandra Pentaghast, irksome as they are to hear, mean nothing. I know the truth._

     "I can assure you now that such a wish will never see fulfillment." I pushed off of the wall and nodded. "And I thank you for your forthrightness and clarity, Cassandra. I have but one request, and it is not for myself."

     "Pray enlighten me." Cassandra's brow raised and I winced as the gesture reminded me of my warden.

     "Do not punish Kathyra for what you perceive as my crimes. She is a good woman and a valuable asset. I would not see her threatened for attempting to keep peace between us."

     "Kathyra's actions will dictate her treatment." Cassandra said. "I consider her a friend, and if I find your influence upon her turning her in any way from the Maker's path...justice will be meted appropriately. Upon the both of you."

     "The Chantry's justice?" I asked. "Or your justice?"

     "They are one and the same." Cassandra smiled, dismissing me from her quarters with a wave.

     I exited the cabin and clenched my hands into a fist. The justice of the Chantry and the Right Hand were indeed the same. It was justice without mercy... _and the Maker desires no part in it._


	49. The Pilgrim's Path

**Salem**

     "Keep a sharp eye out." I warned, pulling my swords from their sheathes as I felt the tugging in my gut that often preceded a battle.

     Oghren, who knew that it was often wise to heed my intuition and my orders, pulled his axe from his back and readied it. Nathaniel reluctantly strung his bow, but Anders, the ever recalcitrant, glared at me and the surrounding area. A gentle wind blew and tossed the leaves on the trees with a pleasing rustle. All around it looked as though a peaceful spring had resurged, but I would not be taken by surprise, nor would I let those who were subject to my orders and therefore my responsibility.

     "Is the cloudless sky going to attack us, commander?" Anders needled me. "Or perhaps the trees are holding a grudge; I didn't think of that."

     I clenched my jaw and growled low in my throat, though I was distant enough from the three of them that they did not hear my frustration. The mage had been a trial on my patience since we had left Vigil's Keep for the Pilgrim's Path, pushing me to my limits faster than Morrigan and Alistair ever had. If he insisted on dancing upon my nerves for much longer, a painful lesson might be needed.

     _Calm yourself, Salem._ I pinched the bridge of my nose and turned my face away from the sun. _He is still angry at his fate, and there is no way to reconcile him to it but to keep him walking towards the future. This was easier done when the world was in grave peril, but the Blight is done, the pall of fear lifted, and thus anger leads to reticence rather than action._

     "Look at where we are, Anders." I told him, my voice straining under the titanic effort it took to keep it calm. I staked my swords into the ground so that they did not spill the blood of my companions. "Tell me what you see."

    The mage snorted. "Blue sky." he quipped. "Trees. Grass. Rocks. A roadway."

     My lips tightened and I turned to Howe's son. "Nathaniel?"

     "The road narrows ahead." he stated, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. "There is a hill on one side, and a rise in ground no the other. The trees provide excellent cover. It makes for a most advantageous ambush point."

     _Excellent. He does have a soldier's senses...though looking for a point of ambush is most definitely a tactic inherited from his baseborn father._

     "Exactly." I turned back to Anders. "So. _Keep. A. Sharp. Eye. Out."_

     "Fine, fine." Anders waved a dismissive hand and _pouted_ , complete with the sad eyes, the heavy sigh, and the protruding lower lip. I wanted to slap it off of his face.

     I turned around before the fist my hand had curled into met with his jaw. Patience was a necessary virtue to honed, and I knew that I had led a super caliber of men and women during the Blight. Those who were well acquainted with life, death, and freedom on their own terms. Anders, a man who wanted freedom but did not understand that _no_ man was truly free, would have to learn. I believed that his education would come with a great deal of pain, but I could not be the one to grant him that learning.

     "I say we send the pretty boy in first." Oghren huffed. "He's good fer catchin' arrows if nothin' else."

     "Is the strategy the dwarf speaks of what won you the Blight, Salem?" Nathaniel asked, his tone too dark for jesting, his disdain for me too present.

     "Seal your whoreson lips." I hissed. My hands could not strike, but the venom and anger scalding through my veins needed at least one outlet.

     "It seems to be a valid inquiry." Anders interjected. "And one that warrants an answer, if my life is to be sacrificed to your paranoia."

     "Do you wish to know how I won the Blight, Nathaniel?" I rounded on the both of them, lifting my swords from the earth, gripping them so tightly that they shook in my grasp as though alive of their own volition.

     "Enthrall me with the tale, _Salem._ " Howe's son stepped closer, within range of my swords, goading me into something more than a verbal confrontation.

     The earth quaked as Oghren swung his axe and planted it firmly between us. The dwarf squared off against Nathaniel Howe, bowing up and intimidating the much taller man. It pleased me to watch.

     "'Nuff o' that." Oghren spoke. "Cool yer fires, boy. Salem here took more arrows and swords than the rest o' Ferelden. Never won a battle on someone else's merit, neither. Reason I said as I did is because you an' the pretty boy are _pissin' me off!"_

     "Tell me, Cousland," Nathaniel's grey eyes fired to mine, "how much gold did it take to buy the loyalty of a dwarf? Even a sunstruck one?"

     "I ain't fuckin' sunstruck." Oghren growled, resenting the insult.

     _Nathaniel implied that Oghren was cast out to the surface and stripped of his caste, then addled by the sun and driven to insanity. Maker's blood-soaked breath. How am I to remedy this when I am surrounded by those who will **not** listen!? _

     "I have never purchased loyalty." I spoke, my voice trembling. "And I will thank you _not_ to insult my companions, or any warrior whom you do not know. Oghren is a dwarf of the warrior caste, wed to a Paragon, and entrusted by King Bhelen to represent the dwarves of Orzammar before the Grey Wardens and king in Ferelden."

     I did not think it prudent to mention that Oghren's former wife was dead at my hand, or that she had lost both her mind and her love of men. Fortunately, Oghren saw fit not to remind me, agreeing and keeping his peace as realization flashed through Nathaniel's eyes. He could not turn Oghren and me against each other. The bonds forged during the Blight were strong, if strange, and not easily sundered by the pitiful words of a near stranger.

     "Forgive me, Ser Oghren." Nathaniel bowed his head in a gesture of respect, but his tone held nothing but venom.

     I knew there would be no apology for me, but I did not care. All that I needed was time. Time for them to know me, understand me, then see the error of their ways. But they would never see that error if I descended to the level from which they flung their barbs.

     Still furious, I turned on my heel and walked away, knowing that I could not direct my fury at any other but myself. It had been my choice to induct both Nathaniel and Anders into the Grey Warden order. I would have to earn their respect...and that would be a monumental task. Nathaniel Howe would never forgive me for taking his birthright; Anders would never, at this rate, reconcile himself to the limited freedom that the wardens offered mages. Anything that kept him affixed to a certain duty would simply become another Circle in his eyes.

     I continued walking up the road, moving forward, expecting an arrow in my back or a lightning bolt through my skull. If this were the bandit's ambush point, I did not know if I could depend on those I traveled with. The brotherhood and sisterhood forged by the Blight had made us depend on each other...those ties, forged in fear and tears and blood, could no longer be fashioned.

     A running figure caught my eye and I increased my pace, running forward, making out a man in leather armor, his chestplate engraved with the symbol of Amaranthine's city guard.

     "Go back!" he shouted, waving his hand. "Stay clear of the road!"

     "Oh, shit!" Anders cursed and I looked past the guard to the road ahead.

     I watched as a tree uprooted itself from the earth and swung its massive branches down on the guardsman's body. The sound of crunching bone was audible, even as the massive limb kicked up a wave of dust from the road. My heart burned and battle-song began to thrum in my blood.

     A slight figure appeared at the crest of the hill, gazing down onto the road, onto the living tree that crushed the guardsman's body into the dirt with its trunk-foot.

     "You have been warned!" an acidic, feminine voice crashed down on us. "Any who venture here will suffer the same fate!"

     "C...Commander?" Anders voice held a quiver of fear. "What are we going to do?"

     "Fight, o' course." Oghren grinned, hefting his axe onto his shoulder as the tree moved closer to us.

     "Indeed." I smiled, examining my enemy for weakness. "Apparently, ser mage, the trees do indeed bear a grudge."

     "I wasn't serious!" Anders sputtered.

     "Funny that." I quipped, pulling a flask of oil from my belt and pouring it over my blades. I struck a flint and set my swords aflame, trusting the enchantment set in them to keep the fire from scoring the steel.

     _It is serious now._


	50. Resolutions and Remembrance

**Leliana**

     I leaned against the railing of the ship, watching the to and fro of the port, listening to the shouts of dockworkers and sailors, the creaking of rope and groaning of pulleys as cargo was exchanged between land and sea. The structure of the chaos was pleasing to my eyes and my ears and I relaxed further as I listened and watched, allowing my mind to wander.

     _I lived for this, once,_ I smiled, remembering a younger, wide-eyed Leliana roving the docks under Marjolaine's careful gaze. _For the excitement, the bustling **aliveness** of the city. It filled me with such joy. The quiet in Lothering jarred me at first. It felt foreign and wrong...and I loathed it. But then, a different quiet was revealed to me...and I discovered myself. _

      I watched as Kathyra approached the ship, ten templars in two behind her. She directed them up the gangplank and I assessed them, the gleaming armor and spit and polished rank and file. Having heard Alistair describe his life as a templar, I could not help but feel pity for them. The Chantry forced them to drink lyrium, to become addicted to what magic was made of as a defense against those who used it and enslave them to the Order.

     _But it will not kill them,_ my treacherous heart felt ice curl around it. _It does not cause nightmares, or ravenous hunger. It does not slowly drive them mad. It is a far kinder prison than the curse of a warden's tainted blood._

     The physician followed the templars up the gangplank and my eyes caught hers. She quickly looked away, mumbled an order to the squad, and disappeared below decks without so much as another glance in my direction. I sighed and returned my gaze to the docs, letting my vision blur as I wondered what had transpired between me and Kathyra that warranted this reaction. No matter how many times I replayed the memory of our discussions, I could not find where I had gone wrong. I did not know how to go about mending the rift between us, especially if she would not speak to me.

     _Then again,_ warmth filled me, _this will not be the first time I have drawn feeling from a stone._

* * *

_I sit in front of the fire, pulling my knees closer to me and wrapping my arms around them, attempting to ease the pressure on my bruised ribs. The flames flicker red and orange, drawing me into their depths as I attempt to sort through the barrage of conflicted emotion I had just witnessed._

_**Salem has scarcely breathed a word to me since we spoke four nights ago,** my brow creases, **but tonight...tonight he asks for entrance into my tent and then offers an invitation for me to join her, and when my injuries refused to allow me to move she...she carried me. **_

_The blood beneath my skin heats and it has nothing to do with the warmth of the fire. It has everything to do with the way the warden had eased her arms beneath me, lifting my body effortlessly, cradling me against her with a gentleness I had not known a warrior could possess. I shake my head in despair, wondering why I reached up to take her hand after she had set me down, what mischievous, fickle, **unwanted** emotion had made me desire to feel her skin. Salem had flinched at the touch, and I had witnessed in her eyes the closing of doors as my foolish mouth proclaimed admiration for her._

     **_She does not even know me...not as I desire her to._**

**_No, Leliana, do not be a fool! This strange, hitching beat in your heart, the foreign warmth beneath your skin, the longing to touch, to feel...it is exactly as you were with Marjolaine. I cannot risk such a thing happening again. I could not...could not bear it. _ **

**_But...when we last conversed, Salem uttered words that Marjolaine would never speak. She attacked the very foundations of my truth...I want to be so challenged again. I want to see the sparks in her brilliant blue eyes. I want...I want nothing to do with this!_ **

_My body rebels against me as I stand in spite of the sharp spikes of pain firing across my ribs. I look around the camp, seeing the warden on her knees, scratching the giant hound behind the ears. My heart softens at the tableau; it shows a tender side to the warden that she has not yet shown to us._

_**But she cannot conceal her emotions,** I realize. **Though her face remains impassive, though her movements are relentlessly controlled, her eyes scream. **_

_I move towards the warden, my mind screaming at me in protest. But I am a lover of stories and mysteries, and I want to unravel the pain in Salem's eyes. I feel as though I am nearing the edge of a cliff as I approach the warden. She made it quite evident moments ago that our conversation was ended. As much as I wish to accede to her wishes, I want even more to hear her voice once again._

_"Salem," my voice trembles and I clench my hands into fists, begging for strength._

_**I am a bard! Speech is my strength, eloquence as keenly bladed weapon as a dagger. How does she render me so inordinately tongue-tied?**_

_The warden rises from her knees with a fluid grace that belies her exhaustion. "You should not be standing." the rough cadence of her voice washes over me and I quiver. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "Maker, what I would not give for a competent healer."_

_"I am all right." I assure her, touched by her concern, concern for me, even though her own pain is palpable. "I...I simply wished...to apologize. I...I believe I have upset you and I assure you that it was not my intent and..."_

_A small grin, one of the first signs of mirth I have seen from her, quirks the corner of her lips. "You have done no wrong." the half-smile vanishes and I feel lost as its absence._

_**What is she doing to me?** I wonder, abhorring the silence as it crowds in on us. _

_"Then...would you rejoin me by the fire? Please?" the inquiry is plain, simple, without any physical gesture to give it more importance than it has._

_"You do not find my company a burdensome irritant?" she asks._

_"Not in the least." I take a step and pain from the bruises spirals down my legs, weakening my knees._

_Strong, warm hands arrest my fall and I gracelessly collapse against the warden's chest, blushing a furious shade of red as her hands move from my shoulders to my waist, supporting me. My heart is hammering in my chest, a furious tattoo of conflicted desires and unadulterated fear._

_"I've got you." the three words are entirely too reassuring, filling me with such peace that I am frightened. I move to break away from the impromptu embrace and her muscles tense, holding me still. "Slow." she cautions. "Very slow. You're shaking."_

_**Not from the pain,** my treacherous thoughts intone. I rest my hand on her shoulder and use it to lever myself safely to my feet. _

_"I'm fine." I whisper, afraid to look into her face, to see her judgment of me displayed in those arresting silver-blue eyes._

_"Let me back to the fire...or your tent, if you prefer."_

_I dare to meet her eyes, shocked to my core as I realize the sole emotion in them is concern...and beneath that, ever-present in her...that pain. That pain which is still a mystery._

_**Tell me...** the thoughts desire to manifest as words, to reveal themselves as a hand against her cheek, a longing, sparking gaze exchanged between us. Instead I curl into myself, protecting my scarred body and fearful heart. _

_"The...the fire...please." again my words betray my mind._

_She nods and slides her arm around my waist, my own arm finding its way across her broad shoulders. She takes most of my weight as we walk back to the fire. She unwinds herself from my body and helps me sit. I wince as I relax into a more comfortable position, my eyes following the warden's every movement as she seats herself before the flames._

_**She is beautiful,** a smiles comes to my face unbidden and the artist I once was reaches out from my tortured soul and whispers into my heart. **They could write poems about her haunted gaze, the elegant arch of her cheekbones, strength in her jaw...all harsh things contrasted against her sensitive lips, the delicate pallor of her complexion.**_

_"Sister Leliana?" she brings me from my reverie with another gaze filled with concern._

_"Yes?" I hate myself for having no other reply._

_"I apologize for my earlier behavior." she says. "The day has been taxing and I am afraid I am not at my best."_

_"You are so often silent." I tease, gentle. "How would I even hazard a guess as to what your best entails?"_

_Her lips turn down at the corners, but there is a glint in her eyes that makes me believe I have not entirely offended her. "I would say you could take my word for it, but your previous statement would prove a devastating counter to that claim." a tinge of dark humor colors her words._

_"You do not lack for eloquence." I tell her. "But I would consider it a great favor if you would explain your silence."_

_The pain re-emerges in her eyes with renewed fury and I bite my tongue, immediately regretting my words. "For this reason." she answers. "Speaking builds bridges...establishes links and ties between people...and a sword can tear such things to pieces with a terrifying ease."_

_**She has lost something...someone...dear to her.** "And what links and ties do you fear might be severed?" I bite my lips, feeling as though I tread on thawing ice._

_"Those that I find myself wishing to forge." she replies, and her eyes flash to mine, filling me with more heat than the flames._

_**Salem...tell me...please?**_

* * *

I returned from the memory with the tracks of tears on my face. I reached up and wiped them away, reverent. They were tears shed for the moments of great uncertainty and happiness that had been my journey with Salem. The journey that had culminated with her ring on my finger and her vows against my ears.

     _She feared to speak to us, to forge a connection with any one of us who joined her, even Alistair, who was himself a Grey Warden. Perhaps Kathyra, who has lost so much as well, possesses this same fear. I have no choice but to confront her. Whatever wound I have dealt her, I cannot afford to let it fester...lest it damn us both in the upcoming battle._


	51. Love Restrains the Angry Hand

**Salem**

     "Little help here, pretty boy!" Oghren shouted over the rustling of the leaves as the tree continued flailing its limbs about with desperate, magic-induced strength. 

     The berserker and I could not get close to the trunk, near the heartwood, where the flames affixed to our weapons would do permanent damage. Thus far, Nathaniel and Anders had not moved, too stunned by the vision of the forest uprooting itself to attack us. I, however, had seen it before and Oghren... _nothing fazes Oghren._

     I smiled as I struck at the thin branch that whipped towards my face, then frowned as I realized that no raging ball of flame had come to our rescue.

     "Anders!" I shouted. "Fire would be _useful!_ "

     A flaming arrow landed in the trunk of the tree and the sylvan backpedaled, thrashing against itself in an effort to put out the flame that threatened it. I dared to look back, to see Nathaniel, white-faced and trembling, nocking another arrow.

     _He can shoot a bow._ I frowned as I ducked under another swipe from a massive branch. _But he is no Leliana._

     The sylvan lunged forward, knocking Oghren and me off of our feet. I landed in the dirt and dust filled my mouth and stung in my eyes. I watched as the massive tree lumbered towards the enemy who had caused it the greatest damage; who had become the most immediate threat.

     _Let him die,_ my darker heart whispered. _Nathaniel Howe will be nothing but a thorn in your side. He is too quick to attack, too slow to defend...a liability on any battlefield. None living would say anything against me...simply another casualty...another terrible loss in battle...ea_ _sily dismissed and soon forgotten._

     I clambered to my feet and felt the wind in my hair as I watched. Oghren shouted some vague warning, but I simply stood there, a roaring in my ears.

     _Please..._ the plea drifted on the edge of sound...in a lilting, Orlesian accent. _Salem, please._

     A flood of memories rushed through me in a torrent... _the guttering torches...Howe's tongue in my hand, beneath my blade...Leliana's hand on my wrist...the terror in her eyes... **but your open heart,**_ I recalled her voice, stretched wire-taut with pain, _**your brilliant smile...the laughter that falls from you easier and more often...I love her mor**_ _ **e...I love her**_ _ **more.**_

     I began running, pushing my body to its limits, attempting to outpace the force of nature harnessed by magic...to save the life of a man I despised.

     _Because the woman Leliana loves is the woman who would never watch another suffer. The woman she loves would never stand aside and let death take another...not when I could be there...as ever I tried to be...to take the blow._

     I tackled the son of my enemy to the ground as his second arrow flew off target, as the massive limb swooped down, a dull clanging in my ears as the branch crashed against my backplate, as pain fissured down my spine and through my shoulders.

     Nathaniel gasped as he struck the ground and my weight fell on top of him. I fell away and we watched in horror as the tree lifted one of its roots, preparing to pulp our bodies into a mass of bloodied flesh and broken bone. I rolled back on top of the archer, determined to take as much of the blow as possible, to defend his life...to be the woman worthy of Leliana's marriage vows.

     I closed my eyes and whispered a sorrowful farewell to my beloved, tensing as I waited for the roots to crash down, for the scent of blood to assault me before the merciful darkness of death.

     Instead, a wave of pure, bright flame washed over us and rolled across the sylvan, drowning it in fire, consuming its life force. The tree staggered back and I moved away from Nathaniel, watching as mage's fire streamed from Anders' hands and flew at the sylvan with the rage of madness unleashed. The heat from the burning tree washed over me and I brushed a light sheen of sweat from my brow.

     Oghren propped himself up on his axe and pulled a flask from somewhere, taking a long drink. I laughed. It was good to know there was constancy in the world.

     The tree collapsed to the ground, branches wilting, leaves crackling as the magic that had fueled its awakening died beneath the flames.

     "Did? You? See? That?" Anders turned to me, exultant. " _Did you see that!?_ I killed it! I killed the bloody thing! Look at it...it's...it's _massive_ and it's _**dead!"**_

     He laughed in boyish glee and I rolled my shoulders, assessing the damage done to my body even as anger flooded me so completely that all physical pain dulled. I peeled my gloves off and stalked over to the mage, grasping him by the shoulder and bringing my fist across his jaw.

     Anders staggered back and his green eyes flooded with rage. "Your hesitation could have killed us all!" I erupted, moving closer as his hands flickered with lightning. "You stood there like a frightened _child_ when you could have prevented _any_ injury, so do not _dare_ cry victor!"

     "You..." his voice trembled and he lifted a sparking hand, "...you struck me. _No one_ has ever dared strike me, not even the templars! How _dare_ you..."

     I reached back and struck him again, planting my fist against his cheekbone, hearing the resounding, satisfying thud of flesh against flesh and a reassuring pain through my knuckles.

     "You bitch..." he muttered, clutching at his eye.

     I hit him again, grabbing his robes as he reeled backwards and nearly fell. I pulled his face to my own and stared into his eyes, letting him read the fury in my gaze, bathing him in the terror of its scars.

     "I have killed monsters and gods." I growled. "And I _know_ that the blood of men is _most_ easily spilled. Do. Not. Tempt. Me."

     "You wouldn't..." he gasped, clinging to his stupid mage's arrogance.

     I leaned close to Anders' ear and hissed. "I. Am. _Not._ Afraid of you."

     I shoved him away and he fell to the ground, still clutching his face.

     "Do something!" Anders shouted, angry eyes flashing to Nathaniel. "You hate her too!"

     I backed away and turned to where I could see both Nathaniel and Anders. I had dropped my swords, but I would be ready for an attack from whichever corner it would come.

     Nathaniel's grey eyes were wide and puzzled. He looked from the mage, with whom he was united in hatred of me, and then into my face, confusion marring his features. His thin lips turned down at the corners.

     "All I witnessed was a superior officer punishing an insubordinate whose whining and fear nearly got us killed." he shrugged his shoulders. Anders glared at the man he considered his ally. Nathaniel grinned. "I happen to like my neck on my shoulders, mage." he quipped. "Preferably unbroken."

     "You boys finished with measurin' yer cocks?" Oghren sauntered over. "'Cause I got ya both beat an' there's a crazy mage what woke up a damn tree. Reckon we'd better focus on that 'fore anythin' else."

     "Oghren's right." I squared my shoulders, wincing as the bruised muscles protested. Fortunately, nothing felt broken. I looked to Ander. "Get up, Ander. Grey Wardens do not _pout_ in the dirt."

     He sulkily got to his feet, rubbing his rapidly darkening jaw. "I am a Maker-be-damned Grey Warden against my will."

     "And you draw breath against mine." I told him, dismissing his complaints as I turned my back. "We must both make sacrifices."

     I strode up the pathway, keeping a watch out for more trees given life by magic. The sounds of the world dulled again, and once more that beautiful, phantom voice floated past my ears.

     _Thank you._


	52. In the Eyes of Others

**Leliana**

     I walked below deck, slipping through the narrow hallways, mumbling apologies to the various templars and sailors I inadvertently brushed against. A chill shuddered through me at the sounds of clanging metal and the predictions of the soldiers. Their words bombarded me, ranging from a ridiculous optimism to replete despair, and all the layers between. 

     "Hey, cheer up." one of the more optimistic spoke. "The Right Hand herself is on this boat. That's as good as a guarantee of success, signed in the Maker's hand."

     I stood, watching in shock as the mood lightened and the creased brows and worried frowns of the skeptics evaporated.

     _They are so foolish,_ I realized. _So young_ _and foolish. Cassandra Pentaghast is a mortal woman...armored in the same metal and wielding a blade from the same forge as the rest of these templars. But there must be a strength in her that they see...yet it deludes them into believing they will know success._

     I laughed at myself and continued my search. _But who am I to tell them so? My leader's mantra was "I will not lose". It did not inspire confidence...until Salem proved her words, time and time and time again._

     I sighed at the darker memories of older times and placed my forehead against the door I had been seeking. Faint rustling came from within and I debated the virtues of announcing my presence. It would be easier to walk away...but no. I could not afford to let Kathyra turn me away again. I needed her trust, her belief, and to repair whatever lay damaged between us.

     I opened the door and entered, silent as a shadow. The physician glanced up, but her eyes held no anger, no fear, just a simple resignation.

     "I thought you might come." she sat on the edge of a bunk, appearing vulnerable and miserable. "What do you want, Leliana?"

     I remained where I was, though I wanted to step forward, lift her eyes to mine, and speak with vision what words could not. "What have I done, Kathyra?" I asked. "What have I done to hurt you, or give you cause to fear?"

     "Nothing." she shook her head. "Why do you ask?"

     Confusion creased my brow. "So that I might know what to apologize for. I have sought for the rift so that I might mend it, but I must confess that I am blind in this matter."

     "Can you not content yourself with what I have given you already?" she asked, seeming almost desperate to end this conversation.

     "No." I kept my voice calm, soothing, as though I were approaching an injured animal. I dared to take a step closer. "I have either inflicted a new wound or torn open an old one, and I am not content to take your word and leave you to suffer. I am...I am your friend, Kathyra."

     "I do not have friends." the physician muttered. "I have the Seekers, and I have my patients, but I do not have _friends._ " she laced the words with venom and spite.

     "You have me." I attempted to console her.

     "Do I?" she asked, at lat meeting my eyes. "How can I have something...someone...whose existence I keep questioning?"

     "What?" her question took me aback.

     "You cannot be _real_." Kathyra shook her head again, as if to clear it, as though I would vanish from her sight. "You are beautiful in spite of your scars. You are kind to your jailers, forgiving of your torturers. You are loved by the only person strong enough to kill a god...it is as if you have walked from the pages of the most far-fetched tales and into the waking world. And in this...in this tale I would be...I would be, by virtue of birth and blood and fate...well...a villain."

     "Is that what you are afraid of?" I wondered aloud. "A self-imposed unworthiness?"

     "That and...and other things." she sighed and buried her head in her hands. "You make me question things, Leliana, thoughts and feelings that I have long considered _truth_. I once believed that if...if...if ever someone loved me, I would never leave them; that even in death, there I would follow. And that night...that night...I saw the fire in your warden's eye, and the pain in them like a never-ending hell. and you...you walked away from the magnitude of her love and her grief...I did not know what to think until I realized that you did it for the sake of love. And then...then, of all things, you offered me understanding and compassion when I confessed the Divine's scheme; when I revealed my heritage, you did not fear or hate or place any judgment against me. And mages, beings I have always considered the height of evil...you have made me focus on their humanity and realized that they are flawed and tormented beings as we are, and that Seekers have no greater understanding of Truth and that the templars are not divinely imbued couriers of justice but that we are men and women in a terrifying world where we are blind. But you...you, Leliana, you can _see_...and I want you to be real and I want...I want..."

     Sorrow filled me as I recognized the expression in her eyes. It was the same tremulous hope that had filled mine the night I bared my soul to Salem, the night I expected her touch to be denied, her kiss to be withdrawn, for my own supposed truth to walk into the light... _that she was too good for me. But Love holds no judgment, only itself, and it is a gift that outstrips all understanding and that we have tried to understand it and brought it so grievously to ruin...this is why the Maker speaks again._

     "Take my hand." I extended it out to the older woman.

     Kathyra reached, but pulled back before our skin touched. "I shouldn't."

     "Please." I reached out again, stepping closer to her.

     The physician's trembling fingers interlocked with mine and I knelt before her, looking into her eyes. "I assure you, I am real." I told her. "And that I know your confusion and bewilderment, for I experienced it myself. I am not inhuman, Kathyra. I am flawed, and judgmental, and I know all too well the paralyzing grip of fear. The night you came for me...it was not the first time I have walked away from Salem, though I loved her no less fiercely then than I do now. I feared her love because I feared her death and in my weakness I abandoned her when she was blind and injured."

     "But..." she spoke, and I shook my head, determined to shatter her illusion of me as something more than mortal.

     "Kathyra, I am a murderer." I confessed. "I have killed in cold, indifferent blood. I played the Game with abandon and glee. I carry those burdens forever in my soul and the scars on my body are a constant reminder of the great darkness that I could have been. The great darkness that once I was. The image you see of me...it was painted by a different hand than mine."

     "You changed." she acknowledged. "And only because another believed that change was possible for you...but Leliana, I _haven't_ changed. I am not now who I have always been...whatever I have done was against my will or an act of desperation. I cannot reconcile those actions in my soul, and I..." she gripped my hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "I want so very much to forgive myself and I **_can't_**!"

     Her eyes rimmed with tears and they fell silently amidst the creaking of the ship and the clatter of the crew.

     "You can find the strength." I reached up and wiped away her tears. "That much I know."

     "Do you..." her lips trembled, "...do you think...that if someone were to love me...as you are loved...that I could see in myself what they would see and finally...finally forgive?"

     My heart bled for her and I closed my eyes, thinking of Salem. How my warden's acceptance and love of me had weakened all of my barrier, had made me believe in the beauty of the mortal heart, had returned to me all the things that Marjolaine had stolen. How she let me make peace with my past...but that _she_ screamed out, trapped in her nightmares. That she could forgive an assassin, a bard, and her torturer but never, never, no matter the love I poured into her, turn those merciful eye inward. How she could never absolve herself from her family's massacre, or the innocents killed in the Blight. That she carried on her shoulders the impossible burdens of the world.

     I opened my eyes and looked at Kathyra. "I don't know." I whispered.

     And in that moment, as realization crossed her features, I witnessed the death of a dream and the birth of a hope. She knew...for good or ill...that I was nothing more...

     _...than human._


	53. A Cuirass of Thorns

**Salem**

     "What in hell happened here?" I wondered, examining the area. 

     I could see the wrecks of the Dalish landships, the pen where the halla had been kept and the irregular tufts of grass where they had grazed. The grass in the clearing was signed, the trunks of the trees blackened, remnants of fire, though I could not tell at this point if it were natural or magical damage.

     "Might suspicious." Oghren muttered, kicking a scrap of torn canvas that lay stuck to the ground. "Looks like an ambush, but no blood, no bodies. Hell, don't look like much was taken in th' way of possessions."

     "And yet I've found discarded weapons, not of elven make." Nathaniel tossed me a curved dagger and bow, both of them stamped with the insignia of the city guard of Amaranthine.

     I shook my head, wondering what had transpired. Our attacker could very well have been a Dalish elf, perhaps one of the survivors of the raid. It had been in the Brecilian Forest, the refuge of many Dalish clans, where I had last witnessed the magic of waking, walking trees. The elves had called them sylvans...a beautiful name for a creature of havoc and destruction.

     _What in hell is happening here?_ I asked myself again. _Alistair passed laws, mandating that the Dalish be left **alone.** That, unless they were the ones to provoke violence, that they were allowed to travel and camp in peace, as long as the city or people they were near were not infringed upon. Punishment for breaking these laws is swift and stern...and yet...the law has been absent f_ _rom Amaranthine...and I have been lax in enforcing it. Maker's breath, will my constant shortcomings always be cast into my face and soaked in the blood of innocents?_

     I glanced at Anders. The mage had been sulky and silent as we walked off of the road and into what had been the Dalish camp. The discoloration of his skin, put there by my fists, had darkened to an angrier shade. He seemed frustrated as he touched one of the blackened tree trunks.

     I watched him for a moment, smirking as defeat crossed his features and he made his way over to me. "Commander Cousland," he refused to meet my eye, "there is something...off...here. It feels like magic, but it isn't. I don't know how to explain it but there is..."

     "Yep." Oghren nodded. "I'm feelin' it too. All sort of creepish and musty?"

     Anders nodded, followed by Nathaniel, and I nearly slapped myself. I walked into the center of the camp, stretching my hands toward the earth, reaching out with my senses. Tainted blood called to tainted blood and I winced as I heard the sounds, the guttural growling of the darkspawn, the screams of the Dalish...the memory of massacre.

     _How did I not notice?_ I berated myself. _An **infant** warden could notice...and **did!** I...I am doing them a disservice. I have slept three hours in the past three days...what good am I if I am unaware of threats such as these!_

_But why...why were human weapons left here? There would be complaints of altercations between the Dalish and the city guard...Maker's **blood soaked, angered, raving, fucking br** **eath! ** The darkspawn planted them! But why? Unless it is a distraction for some greater endgame? Somehow, the darkspawn have gained speech...sentience as well? Enough presence of mind to set two enemies against each other and in the offing ignore what they are doing...what **are** they doing?_

     "Bitch!" a shriek from a female voice...and not mine. "I warned you once!"

     I staggered into reality, falling back as crags of jagged-edged rock leapt up where I had stood not moments before. I watched as Oghren readied his axe and Nathaniel his bow; Anders threw up a magical shield...around himself.

     My attacker strode forward, twirling a bladed mage's staff with a grace that I envied. Her grey eyes flashed in the blinding sun; her white-blonde hair fell about her face in soft wisps. Her face was crafted of sharp angles, all together pleasing. But the severity of her lips, the harsh set of her jaw, and the flickers in her eyes all screamed of danger and hatred.

     "Stand down!" I ordered my fellow wardens, moving around the rocks and drawing my swords.

     I had no intention of falling for the darkspawn's charade. I could not...I could scarcely fathom the idea of the mindless, mute creatures whom I had destroyed by the thousands...strategizing as humans would.

     "I will not!" the elf-mage cried, thinking my order was directed at her. "I will not take heed to those who massacred my family! I will destroy you all!"

     "Evade, do not attack!" I shouted, running towards the elf as I watched magical power coalesce near the tip of her staff.

     I need not have worried for the others. The Dalish mage had singled me out as the leader, and her wrath was focused on me. I staggered back as tiny, hardened pieces of earth ripped themselves from the ground and were flung at me with guided fury. Tiny furrows opened on my skin, across my cheeks and ungloved hands, ripping through the cloth and skin that was not protected by armor.

     Unwanted warmth coated in my skin in the unwelcome form of blood. "Please!" I turned my head and raised my voice over the roar of frenzied magic. "Please, I wish only to speak with you!"

     "Speak then!" the cry came...much closer. 

     I moved out of the way as the bladed end of the staff crashed down, screeching against my armor instead of through my skull. Her furious gaze met mine, as filled with wrath and death as my own. Her fist crashed against my cheek and my head snapped to the side, vision blurring and the taste of blood in my mouth. 

     She struck again with her staff and I dropped my offhand blade and grabbed her weapon, ripping it from her hands and throwing it behind me. "I am not your enemy!" I roared at her, hoping she would believe. 

     Magic swarmed around her hands and I moved to avoid the spell as thorns jutted from the earth, winding about my legs, crawling up my torso and back, threading about my arms and neck, holding me in place. 

     "Why did you do it!?" her voice spat venom and her saliva flecked my cheek. "Why did you bloody shemlen  _do this_?!"

     I darted my eyes around, seeing Oghren, the only one who readily came to my air, in a similar situation as I. Nathaniel watched the elf warily, an arrow nocked, but nothing more. Anders, the only one who had a hope of defeating this mage, was nowhere to be seen.

     "We did not do this." I answered, regretting my words as the thorns holding me elongated and pierced my skin.

     Pain invaded my body and more rivulets of blood flooded across my skin. I gritted my teeth and met the eyes of the elf.

     "Do not deny your crimes, or suffer the consequence! Now tell me, shem! Where have you taken her!? Where is my sister!? Where is Seranni!?"

     "I do not know." the thorns writhed around my neck, tearing into my skin. "I am..." I gasped for air as the vines tightened and the thorns dug deeper still, "Salem Cousland...a Grey Warden."

     "A warden." she hissed. "Why did the wardens attack the Dalish! My people helped you during the Blight and this is how you repay us!? Indiscriminate slaughter!? Kidnapping!?"

     "No." I wheezed as my eyes rolled back in my head. "I...swear..."

     The pressure of the vines mercifully eased, though her thorns remained embedded in my skin. "Then tell me why I was forced to bury my kin!?" her word landed like sparks against my face. "Tell me why my sister is missing!? Tell me why I should not _kill you where you stand!?"_

     "I will help you." I spoke the only words that might break through her hatred. "Find your sister. I will help you."

     She backhanded me across the face. "I do not want your help!" she seethed. "You bloody human scum have caused us _nothing_ but despair! You'd like as not run a blade through my gut the moment I break this spell!"

     "No." I shook my head, regretting it as the thorns dug deeper still. "Darkspawn did this."

     "Why?"

     "I do not know...but I wish to find out. Let me help you. Please." I all but begged, needing answers, needing to understand...needing to be free of the thorns that inched deeper into my skin with every breath.

     "Swear it on my god and your blood, warden, but the latter is what is at stake." she eyed me warily, as though I were an unknown species of serpent.

     "I swear it," I moistened my lips, tasted blood, "on the Creators...and my own blood. I will not harm you, and I will help you find your sister."

     She snapped the spell and it took all of my strength to remain standing as the thorns were pulled from my body with an ungentle touch. Every puncture radiated pain and I clenched my jaw as the mage and I stood eye to eye with each other, each waiting for the other to strike.

     The elf took a step back and surveyed my condition. "Drop your sword."

     I let the blade fall to the ground, my eyes not leaving hers. "I mean you no harm. And my people have done nothing to you...at least...not here. Please, hear me out."

     "Speak, shem." she allowed. "And after that, we shall see if you are worth hearing my tale."

     "May I have your name, at least?" I asked.

     The elf drew herself up, though she till stood a head shorter than I. "Velanna." she straightened her shoulders. "I am called Velanna."


	54. Comfort in the Dark

**Leliana**

     I stood on the deck, drinking in the fresh air. Since the dungeons of Val Royeaux, I had despised any small, cramped spaces. Staying more than a waking candlemark in the ship's cabin's was nearly more than I could bear. Kathyra had noticed my pallor, the trembling of my hands, and, attributing it to seasickness, sent me above decks. 

     I shook my head, wondering about the woman who was Marjolaine's older sister. Her confession had been heartfelt, and real, but there was still something underneath it, a secret that she had refused to divulge. It did not take a bard's intuition to notice...nothing but a simple human connection revealed it.

     _However,_ I took a deep breath, grounding myself, _I will not press the issue. If it is something she wishes to confide, then I believe she will relay it in time. Until then, I will accept_ _what she has given me. And,_ a small grin quirked my lips, _it is a place I have known all too well. To see something, some **one,** so beautiful and powerful that they appear to be more than human..._

* * *

_The dim light is not enough. I sit at the edge of camp and close my eyes, but I can still feel the walls pressing in on me, threatening to take away even the damp, musty air of the Deep Roads. Strange sounds echo in the tunnels, probably rocks or nugs or deepstalkers. But in my ears they turn to footfalls, footfalls attached to rapists and torturers and twisted creatures who "uphold the law."  
_

_I draw my knees into myself, feeling the tears on my face and hating the subtle tremors that ricochet through my shoulders and back. Old scars ache as though the wounds were fresh-made and I bite my lip, restraining a cry of pain, not wanting the witch on watch to stand over me with her acerbic, condescending commentary. Instead, I curl tighter into myself, willing the nightmares to fade, praying for a brighter light than the single crystal, no longer or bigger around than my little finger, that Wynne had imbued with a soft blue glow._

_**I remember the guttering torchlight...** memories assaulted me with a ferocious intensity... **no** **t even enough light to see by. Lighted cells were a privilege, and I was not by any means a model prisoner. The cold of the stone radiated against my open injuries and I bit my lips as the door hinge to my cell screeched open. Warm hands touch my skin and I cry out...**_

_"No...please no..." I whimper as warm hands touch my shoulders. I cruel into myself, sobbing silently, knowing the violation, torture, and terror that is to come._

_"Leliana." the voice that speaks my name is rough, bearing no trace of an Orlesian accent. It is female and calm and... **beautiful.**_

_The hands move away and I feel an ache at their absence. I bite my lip harder and dare to look up, half-expecting to see a leering, beard-framed grin and dark eyes alight with malice and lust. Instead, silver-blue eyes filled with concern look into mine. I cannot see all of the expression in them, but I imagine, for my own comfort, that they are warm and filled with reassurance that I so desperately need._

_"S...Salem?" I ask, reaching out into the darkness, praying that it is her._

_My fingers graze her temple, feeling the uneven texture of torn flesh. I pull my hand back, remembering the battle, the cries in the darkness and the fear overtaking my heart as I heard Salem cry out and watched her fall, struck by a well-placed blow to the head._

_"You...you should be resting." I clasp my hands together in a futile attempt to warm them._

_"I seem to recall being forced into slumber against my will." she speaks, voice low, with a hint of her oddly-comforting dark humor._

_I remember dragging her into the dim light of Wynne's crystal, seeing her face half-covered in blood... **the warmth of it, the stickiness, clinging to my body, coating my skin and adhering to the straw and filth and summoning the rats who would gnaw on my flesh while I lay helpless and too weak to even frighten them away.**_

_"Leliana," strong arms embrace me from behind, pulling me out of my curled position, into a wealth of comfort and calm. Wide, callused hands stroke up and down my arms, imparting their warmth. "You are breathing much too fast, dear heart."_

_I attempt to slow the rhythm of my breath, my muscles shuddering and spasming as they rebel. Salem draws me tighter against her, wrapping me into her, covering me in a protective shield. Her fingers take my chin and gently turn my face to hers. Her lips meet mine in a soft, undemanding kiss. I gasp, feeling my erratic breathing calm as her lips move against mine with beautiful hesitation._

_I cringe as the kiss comes to a close, feeling my eyes dampen with tears once again. **And now the questions,**_ _Salem pulls my head against her shoulder and her fingers soothe through my hair._ _**Now the concern and the wondering and the recounting of painful tales...I know she asks out of love but I...I...I cannot speak of it, not in this place, where the memories are so close to the surface.** _

_"Much better." I can hear the soft, elusive smile in her voice as she feels my evened breathing against her neck. I tense, waiting for the inquiries about my health, my thoughts, my tormented dreaming. "There was a tree, in a grove outside of Highever," Salem continues speaking, and confusion fills me. "The grove was my father's refuge; he would go there when he needed to think, to feel at peace, calm his soul, and short through his thought away from those demanding answers. On occasion, he would take me there with him. And there this tree...a beautiful, majestic old oak, would...well, it would call to me, I suppose."_

_**What...what is she talking about?**_

_"One day I dared to climb it." the tale goes on, her hand continuing its soothing path through the tresses of my hair. "I scaled branch after branch, feeling as though I were climbing directly to the Golden city. I reached the top, and looked out over the flowing grasses, inhaling the purest air with the sweetest scents. As a child, I felt I stood at the pinnacle of the world, as though nothing could touch me. Ever minute worry, every despairing thought that my young mind could harbor, vanished in that instant. I stood there for what seemed an eternity, looking down on the city, cherishing the birdsong and the choir of the wind. It became my refuge, even as I grew older. When chaos would find me, I would retreat there, climb to the highest branch, and peace would come."_

_**Why is she telling me this,** I wonder, but I noticed that my muscles have loosened, that my eyes are struggling to remain open, no longer pinched tight in fear...that the nightmares inside my mind have been chased away by her voice. _

_She leans down and places a feather-light kiss against my forehead. I curl further into her embrace, realizing that the air seems freer, the dark tunnels less constrained, the menacing noises no longer frightening._

_"I feel the same when you are in my arms, Leliana." Salem whisper, and the chills that ripple through me are nothing but pleasant. "Unassailable. Immortal. Complete and content. So give me your tears, dear heart, and give me your nightmares, and let me hold them, only if for a night."_

_**But you carry so much, Salem. You carry the nightmares of all the world...how can you offer to take mine? You do not even know their full extent. You do not even understand what you are asking, and what I want so much to give...but you are wounded, and you are in pain...you cannot endure what you have asked to carry...such strength and goodness does not exist in this world.** _

_"I...I...Salem." I cling to her, curling my fingers into her tunic,  feeling the beat of her heart beneath her skin...even...steady...strong... "I...I..."_

_**Can I say it?** I ask myself. **I have heard the words from her lips, many times...but I have not said them. I am so afraid...so afraid to relinquish those thoughts, to allow that vulnerability. But that does not mean that I do not feel as she feels, it does not mean that...Maker, I...I do not know what to do! **_

_"It's all right." she hugs me closer to her, folding me into an impossible strength. "I understand the sacredness of pain, Leliana. I am content, dear heart. I need no more."_

_**I do! Oh, Salem, I do. I need and I want and I desire and you...how easy it would be to surrender for just this night, even for a moment...if only I could will my tongue to speak!**_

_"I..." my voice trembles. I hold my breath, reaching into my heart and gathering my fear, my insecurities, my pain, loneliness, anguish, scars, inadequacies, and nightmares, letting them slip through my fingers and into her waiting, beautifully open hands. "I love you, Salem."  
_

_She says nothing, simply accepting what I have offered, wrapping her arms about me, infusing me with an inexplicable peace that I have never felt. Peace born of trust, trust born of love, love born of...heaven's own touch. Her lips press gently against my eyelids, easing them closed._

_"Sleep, dear heart." she breathes. "I've got you." her hand tucks my hair behind my ear, "I've got you. I love you."_

_I fall asleep...waking again, much later, to the same darkness. The air holds a chill, but warmth surrounds and suffuses me, streaming from Salem's body into my own. Nothing had changed...but the world was new. New, beautiful, and...mine?_

* * *

     I looked into the wide, vast expanse of the sky and the vague outline of Val Royeaux as it faded into the distance. The memory of love, and the knowledge that, even miles away, the other half of my heart beat, even, steady, and strong, filled me with such peace that I wept for the beauties of sorrow and joy intertwined. 


	55. Once Again Inhuman

**Salem**

     Everyone kept their distance, and Velanna showed no alarm as Oghren and Nathaniel surreptitiously flanked her on either side waiting for our parley to come to a violent end. 

     "I offered to let you speak, Grey Warden." the elven mage growled, her eyes sparking with hatred and malice. "Try my patience and I can swear that you will attempt _nothing_ else."

     I took a step towards her, my palms open and spread wide in a gesture of peace. My legs and body ached from the multiple small, deep punctures of the thorns she had jailed me in. "First, Velanna, I wish to say that I am sorry for the losses of your people..."

     "Don't!" he raised her hand and turned her wrathful eyes to mine. I met her gaze and her expression...softened? "Do not attempt to placate me with your meaningless words that have no thought attached to them! Convince me of your innocence in this slaughter, and convince me _well!"_

     "I could have killed you thrice over." I informed her, letting her see the distance between us, close enough for me to disarm and disable her, even without my blades. Realization flashed across her features. "And I have not. Neither have my companions, and Nathaniel has had an arrow trained on you these last few moments."

     "And this is meant to reassure me as to your intentions?" she needled, stepping in towards me, looking into my face even though she had to crane her neck backwards. "How many humans have welcomed the Dalish, only to _massacre us!?"_

     "Words mean nothing." I acknowledged, flexing my hand. Faster than thought, I placed it around her delicate neck and squeezed, just enough to restrict her breathing, not to bruise or damage. "Unless they are proven..." I looked beyond the elf, to Nathaniel Howe's raised, drawn bow. Before I could order him to stand down, he let the arrow fly.

     I raised my other hand to Velanna's shoulder and spun her around, stepping into her place, ignoring her wrathful cry of protest. I gritted my teeth as the arrow pierced the backplate of my armor, screaming into my skin. I fought the urge to fall to my knees, instead focusing on Velanna's shocked, pale features.

     "by action..." I finished, feeling blood drain from my face. "I mean you...no harm."

     "Drop that bow or I'll cut yer legs out from under ya!" I heard Oghren bellow at Nathaniel as the world tilted in front of my eyes.

     I heard the clatter of a discarded weapon and struggled to keep my footing, searching the elf's eyes for something resembling belief.

     "Did you know he was going to fire?" she asked, mistrust and fear hardening words that would otherwise have been soft with disbelief.

     "Not until the moment I saw him." I shook my head. "I ask..." pain spiraled from the tip of the arrow into my back, "...for but...a measure of trust...if only because...I cannot stand any longer."

     I dropped to my knees and heard Oghren's shout. Anders appeared from somewhere beneath the undergrowth of a bush and took in the scene, alarm firing his eye as he saw me on the ground. He began to move towards me and I lifted my hand, biting my lip as the arrowhead twisted deeper into my flesh with the movement.

     " _Stand! Back!"_ I doubled over as I inhaled. "Heaven help me, I will _kill_ the next one of you who approaches!"

     Velanna eyed me with a snide smirk perched on her lips. "What in hell are you about, Grey Warden?"

     "Trying...to...convince you." I looked up at her, seeing the grief and rage and fear stamped on her features...the mirror image of my countenance when I left Highever, of Leliana's when we confronted Marjolaine. "Please help me, Velanna. Please."

     _Trust me. **Trust. Me.**_ I begged for something I had too often taken for granted, of late. _I have been the savior for so long...an enemy to none but those who have done wrong. But this woman has had everything stolen from her; she has been given no cause, by right of birth and blood, to trust any of my race. And I must pay for her belief in me as I have ever paid...in blood._

     Velanna examined me with shrewd eyes. "Remove the knife in your boot." she ordered.

     "As you say." I breathed, reaching back and tugging the knife from its sheath, feeling cold sweat break out on my forehead. I flung the blade away, out of either of our reach.

     Velanna knelt beside me, assessing what needed to be done. I watched my companions assemble out of the corner of my eye. Oghren's face was flushed with rage, Nathaniel's pale with dread, Anders' a mix of smug superiority and despair as his healer's nature warred against his dislike of me. Oghren caught my eyes and I nodded, letting him know that I was all right. I had been wounded far more seriously during the Blight, and had always returned to battle.

     "I'll have to cut the shaft." Velanna told me. "It's embedded in your armor."

     "Do what you must." I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable pain.

     Velanna pulled a sharp blade from her leather bracer and laid it against the arrow shaft. I clenched my hands into fists in anticipation...nothing happened.

     "This..." the elf's voice shook the slightest bit, "...this would have pierced my heart."

     "You've nothing to fear from me. From us." I promised, keeping my voice low.

     "You attempted to strangle me." she countered, slicing through the shaft with far more strength than needed.

     _That,_ a hoarse cry ripped from my throat, _wa_ _s intentional!_

    "I...would have...relinquished my hand." I focused on breathing as the mage removed the straps of my armor with deft fingers.

     My chestplate fell with a dull thud on the grass and Velanna's hand steadied my backplate so that it did not fall and rip the arrow out with it. Shockwaves of fire flooded me from the point of the arrow, shooting through my body with merciless ferocity.

     "I...I believe you might have." she relented, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

     She eased the backplate of my armor off and the metal scraped over the shaft of the arrow. I screamed between clenched lips as the metal came free and Velanna set it down. She moved behind me, her fingers probing the injury with surprising gentleness.

     "At least your armor is not entirely useless." acid re-entered her tone. "The arrowhead is quite near the surface. I doubt it struck anything serious." her eyelids lowered in suspicion. "Is this a ploy, warden? Some risky gambit to earn my trust?"

     _Maker's fucking breath!_ I restrained the urge to scream in frustration.

     "Yes." the word was clipped with sarcasm. "I planned the entirety of this scheme before I even laid eyes on your camp. I knew your story already and carefully arranged my own, complete with an injury at the hands of one of my men, solely to inveigle you for nefarious purposes."

     With no preamble, Velanna grasped the shaft of the arrow and ripped it out. I bit down the scream that thundered in my chest, letting the pain emerge from my lips as a breathless gasp, falling forward on my hands and struggling to breathe.

     "I knew it." she said, but a smile lay behind her words. She knew I lied. "Creators, but that's an ugly wound. Have you anything to staunch the bleeding?"

     "There are bandages." I managed to speak as black waves roiled in front of my eyes. "In my belt pouch."

     Velanna found the pouch, extricated the bandages, and packed the cloth into the wound before wrapping it tight around my torso. "My clan made camp here at the new moon." he spoke, soft. "I am...was...my Keeper's first. He sent me and my sister, Seranni, to scout for threats to the camp. When...when I returned, the camp was aflame and my people were dead. The attackers were long gone, but I found weapons abandoned in the fight, bearing shemlen markings."

     "And...your sister." I asked, broaching the sensitive subject.

     Velanna seemed disgusted as her eyes moistened. "She never returned, and was not among the dead. I've spent the last weekend demanding answers...receiving lies...or, what I presumed were lies."

     "Darkspawn did this." I straightened, gauging my ability to continue. "And I regret that no aid came to you sooner. I _will_ help you find your sister, Velanna. The darkspawn have taken too much from so many."

     "Loss is the way of the world." the words seemed philosophical, too clinical and rote for the elf's temperament, and I knew the words were not hers.

     _She was first to her Keeper...perhaps they are his words._

     "Which direction did your sister scout?" I asked, rising to my feet with slow, stilted movements.

     "North." Velanna's eyes did not leave mine, and her expression changed to one of profound confusion. "I went east."

     "We go north, then." I nodded. "May I gather my weapons?"

     "But...but you are injured." her disbelief turned to shock. "You need a healer, stitches, water, and rest. You are in no condition to walk, much less fight." she touched the bandage over the wound and drew her fingers away, stained crimson. "You are still bleeding."

     I smiled as I heard her speak familiar words, words that replayed in my memory, spoken with a tern, foreboding Orlesian accent. I shook my head to clear it, before my own grief overwhelmed my concern for the clearly distraught elven mage.

     _In my knowledge of the Dalish, the Keeper chooses a level-headed successor, one not prone to violence, given to wisdom, not to rash action...one who will sustain the security of the clan, not endanger it. Unchecked, uncared for, Velanna will lose the last piece of herself that she retains and I...I cannot ignore such a thing._

     "I have endured worse." I promised her. "And I gave you my word. A little blood lost will not deter me from my fulfillment of a promise."

     "Are you _human?"_ she asked, gathering my swords from the ground and returning my knife to its place in my boot.

     I thanked her with a nod and staked my blades into the ground as she helped me back into my armor. I winced as the weight was restored, as the plates of the cuirass hung on me and pulled against the myriad injuries and bruises I had accumulated.

     "There have been doubts." I answered, signaling the others to move out.

     Nathaniel's jaw dropped, Anders frowned, and Oghren let out a hearty guffaw that caused me to smile at my own foolishness.

     _And it is foolishness,_ I realized as the muscles in my right leg began to tremor, a signal that, if pushed much further, they would give out. _But there is no voice present who can sway me. Leliana...where are you my love? Are_ _you safe? Are you afraid? Do you long for me as I long for you..._

_...or do I bleed alone?_


	56. Present Comrades, Future Friends?

**Leliana**

     The quiet of my reverie was destroyed as several of the templars rushed out onto the deck of the ship. I assumed they had left their armor below decks, for they wore only their bright colored, brilliantly embroidered tunics. Swords hung from their belts, and the clatter of metal sounded entirely too jaunty as I recalled what I knew of warriors and their appearances. Never this clean. Never this bright.

     _A warrior is so often dirty and disheveled, covered in mud and blood and un-nameable substances. Their clothing is ripped and patched and torn again, fraying at the edges, stained with the blood of self and enemies...a battle flag in its own right. It is nothing like this,_ I looked at the strong, proud, rank and file templars, _nothing like the glamour that they hide behind. This daunting intimidation is Andraste's legacy, the woman unafraid of shadows, who marched in the light for a cause so holy...now her light seems to conceal a greater darkness._

_Would these bright and shining young hopefuls lose their glee and their pride if they realized that the Maker's next war is to be fought from the shadows? Not a grand, exalted march, not a goddess' wrathful cry, but a subtle seduction, a lover's hesitant whisper._

     "Calm yourselves, children." an older, grey-haired man stepped out onto the decks. "You'd think you lot had never been at sea before, but that's no reason not to run through evening drills. Keep in mind, you've naked blades, so we'll be working on form, not force. Go easy on your sparring partners and save the skin-ripping for the apostates."

     I winced at the notion of "skin-ripping" and walked closer, watching the templars as they stood opposed from each other in carefully matched pairs, swords drawn, metal gleaming brighter in the sunlight than their uniforms. The older man, whom I assumed was their sergeant, walked through the ranks, making careful adjustments to stances, giving a correctional word to one or another, before standing aside and nodding his head in grim approval. The templars began a simple set of defensive and offensive practices, the clanging of swords ringing out over the ocean.

     Intrigued, and calmed by the sound of sparring, for it reminded me of better times spent by a fireside in the country now my home, I walked to stand beside the sergeant. He snapped to attention and rendered a crisp salute when he notice my presence. I blushed and waved my hand in a dismissive gesture, wondering what they had been told of me.

     "No need to stand on ceremony, Sergeant..." I trailed off.

     "Sergeant Alan, ma'am." he nodded. "And with the Right Hand herself on board, all protocols must be strictly adhered to."

     "I will reveal nothing if you keep silence." I whispered in his ear. "But protocol be damned."

     A gruff chuckle greeted my ears as his keen blue eyes assessed the templars. "Bronson, it's speed wins a battle, not strength! Rylie, girl, your sword isn't a damn hammer! Kestrel, focus on footwork; no one won a duel standing still!"

     I nodded my approval at his critiques...but misgiving filled my heart as I watched the sparring match. There were too many who seemed as though they were still uncomfortable with a sword in hand. On several I noticed that their blade hands were wrapped with bandaging, the kind placed to protect blisters. Others stood wooden, moving through the practice drills in such a rote, methodical manner that I knew they had not been fighting for long.

     "Please, sergeant, tell me these are not raw recruits." I turned to him and the look in his eyes did nothing to allay my worry.

     Alan sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "It's a piecemeal squad, ma'am." he answered. "Some have seen a few battles, some a skirmish here and there, others are still wet behind the ears. But good men all of them, my word of honor on that. In any case," he winced as the templar called Bronson over-balanced himself on a too-powerful downslash and fell, "care to show a couple of them how a Seeker can fight?"

     "I am but an initiate in the order." I took a step back, flattered but unsure. "And the long and broad sword are far from my primary weapon."

     My words were apparently louder than I intended them to be, as the young woman called Rylie looked up and caught my gaze. "Do you jest?" she asked, holding up a hand to stall her opponent. "You _are_ Seeker Leliana, are you not? The _only_ person to have _ever_ bested Cassandra Pentaghast, _the_ Right hand of the Divine, in a single combat duel?" her voice tripped out in a darling brogue, an accent I recognized from the city of Starkhaven in the Free Marches.

     A murmur rose among the templars and they gathered around me, flinging questions until singular words and voices were lost in a barrage of chatter. I stood in the center, bewildered by all that was happening.

     "Calm your fires!" Sergeant Alan stood in front of me and raised his hands, ordering his men to move back a few steps. The chatter calmed.

     Rylie was nearly hopping on one foot with excitement, her jaunty brown curls bouncing up and down, dark eyes a-glimmer. "It _is_ you, isn't it? None of us were there, but the rumors reached our ears that Cassandra had, swear to the _Maker_ , lost a duel! To an _Orlesian_ nonetheless! The barracks were cheering for you, ma'am." she gasped and placed a hand over her open mouth, looking around in case another one of the Seekers were about to hear her slightly subversive statement.

     A slender young woman with a dancers build, raven hair tied back in a leather thong, and striking green eyes frowned at Rylie and looked to me. "I'm Private Kestrel Ariya, ma'am." she nodded respectfully. "And though Private Rylie might be overly prone to _enthusiasm_ , she poses a valid question. How _did_ you best Seeker Pentaghast?"

     I turned to Sergeant Alan, a little bewildered by the turn of events and the eager interest on the faces that surrounded me. "The last trial for a templar who wishes to join the Order of Seekers is trial by combat." Alan explained. "While most of them _won't_ ," he glared at those assembled, "face Cassandra Pentaghast, there is always that slight chance. And, well, as they said, you're the only one who has ever claimed victory against her in single combat."

     _But **I** did not win! _I wanted to exclaim. _I have no strength with a sword..._

     "It was pure luck that I emerged the victor." I smiled an apology to the exuberant templars, somehow hating myself as the light fled from Rylie's face, leaving the young woman's shoulders in a disappointed slump.

     "I've taken the trial thrice." a man emerged, at least four years my senior. "And once, I faced Pentaghast. No _luck_ won your victory, begging your pardon, ma'am. That woman is a demon with a sword. Any advice you could offer would be taken as a kindness and a privilege."

     _They see in you a leader,_ Salem's voice rang in my ears with the tell-tale echo that now, to me, indicated divine origin. _Take this opportunity, Leliana. Earn their loyalty and you will save their lives. This, I promise._

     "Very well." I acquiesced, and Private Rylie let loose an excited squeal that warmed my heart, even though Kestrel and Alan both frowned.

     "What technique did you use?" Sergeant Alan asked, aiding me immensely by guiding the tale.

     A wide smile spread across my lips. The faces before me now reminded me of the children of Lothering, who would crowd around me when I worked in the gardens or when I walked through the town. They would follow me and beg me to tell them a story. I missed those times. I missed their innocence and their eagerness...I missed all of it.

     "In all truth, it was not _my_ technique that bested her." I replied. "Rather a skill learned from Salem Cousland, a Grey Warden and..."

     "The Hero of Ferelden?" Bronson's deep baritone inquired.

     I nodded. "The very same."

     The uproarious chatter began again as a thousand questions assailed me from all fronts. Sergeant Alan stepped in again, quieting the bunch, who were a touch more rowdy than I presumed templars would be. Then again, I had never spent a great deal of time with those in active duty, and the ones I had last seen were a beleaguered, fearful bunch, slavering to enact the Right of Annulment. Those memories made me shudder.

     "They say that Cousland could wield two full longswords simultaneously." Kestrel's voice was low with a depth of passion that belied intense interest. "I chalked it up to wild rumors. Tell me, ma'am...is it true?"

     "Indeed it is." I did not understand the strange light in Kestrel's eyes, but I was glad of its presence.

     "That can't be true." Bronson disagreed. "Even a man would struggle beneath the burden of twin swords. A woman could not do it."

     "Bronsonnnn." Rylie nagged. "You can't besmirch a hero, especially not face to face with one who fought the Blight alongside her!"

     "Salem Cousland is...different." my mind fell back into delicious memories of my warden's touch, her caress, the heavy muscling that had never taken away from the utter femininity of her body. "She trained with two blades from a young age, and an unmatched skill with them followed her into adulthood...a skill which Cassandra and her fine technique could not stand against."

     Ten sets of eyes rested on me, clinging to my every word. "Did you master it?" Rylie asked.

     I laughed aloud, to their shock and mine. "Maker, no." I told them. "I am pitiful with a sword. It was luck that I remembered the most elementary of her skills."

     The shy, hopeful Kestrel looked up at me. "Do you think you could...show us, perhaps?"

     Taken aback, I looked into the young woman's eyes, at least four shades lighter than Kathyra's in their green. "I am sure..."

     Sergeant Alan cleared his throat. "Not now, of course, ma'am. I'm sure you have far better duties to attend to than mucking about with raw templars."

     A collective sigh left the group as they dissembled back to their weapons and stances. I rested my hand on Kestrel's shoulder before she departed. "Find me at a more opportune time." I offered. "I could not aid you in the finer points, but I recall enough to instruct you, should you wish to learn the basic requirements."

     "Thank you, ma'am, but it was a foolish request." Kestrel muttered, seeming angry at herself. "I'm a templar, not a warden."

     The defeat in her gaze called to my heart, much as Kathyra's loneliness had beckoned me to her. "My wife was a noblewoman before she was a warden, Private Kestrel. What we are can only enhance what we might be, not prohibit us from becoming it, unless we remain stagnated by our own choosing."

     "Your...your wife?" Kestrel's brows rose.

     I lifted the hand that held Salem's ring, watching admiration fill the young woman at the sight of the engraved Cousland mabari, a symbol of loyalty, family, honesty, and integrity. A symbol of all that I wanted and desired to be and to give.

     "Many things I am, Kestrel, but a liar is not one of them." _Not any longer. Not ever, **ever** again. _

"Kestrel, stop slagging and get on with it!" Sergeant Alan shouted, not one to tolerate distractions.

     "Yes, sir!" Kestrel shouted, throwing her eyes back to mine. "May I speak with you later, ma'am?"

     "Yes to the one, no to the other." I smiled. "Call me 'ma'am' again and I will have your hide. My name is Leliana. I would be honored if you would call me by it."

     "As you say." Kestrel nodded and I gasped as she turned away, feeling as though all the breath had been forced from my chest.

     _Salem,_ I turned away from the training templars, _Salem, how deeply are you embedded in me...so much so that three simple words, uttered even in a foreign voice, can render me helpless and...and pierce my heart._


	57. A Reminder of Loneliness

**Salem**

     "I have combed every bit of this ground ten times if once at all." Velanna griped as we made slow progress north of the devastated Dalish camp. "I fail to see what covering it once again will do."

     "You were not accompanied by wardens." I attempted a half-smile, though it turned into a grimace as my body began to rebel against further searching. "Darkspawn perpetrated the attack on your people. If anyone can find them, it is us."

     "A wounded bloodhound." Velanna sniffed, her derisive glance reminding me all too much of Morrigan. "I fail to see how I am further aided. For all I know of wardens, you might chase yourself in circles, scenting out your own blood."

     "You always find the whiny ones, Salem." Oghren groused. "Alistair, Morrigan, the pretty boy. Makes me think you gotta a hankerin' to suffer."

     "Perhaps I do." I shook my head, regretting the action as the scratches on my neck pulled uncomfortably.

     The dwarf had been hovering beside me for the many hours we had been trailing the darkspawn, keeping a constant vigil between me and the furtive glances Anders had been casting my way. I may not have cared for the mage, and he may have been a coward in battle, but the man's _need_ to be a healer stood out plainly on his face. I could but regret that I could not avail myself of his services. He did not need to know how badly I reacted to healing magic. I would not let him use it as a weapon against me.

     _The instant he realizes that to heal me would effectively cripple me, he will cease taking the route of fireballs and lightning strikes and slay me with good intentions, or so he would say. And who would fault him, save Oghren, who has no defense against a mage. The other two, Nathaniel and Velanna, would not weep were I do be lost._

     The sun began to dip lower in the sky and Oghren's eyes watched me, following my every movement. His moustaches drooped in a frown when he noticed the slight limp caused by the weakness in my right leg. It amazed me that my leg would still hold my weight, after all that I had been put through, the myriad tiny injuries and the arrow to my back.

     "I'm callin' a halt." the dwarf announced, voice loud enough to reach the ears of everyone. "Start settin' up camp, pretty boy."

     "Oh, thank the _Maker_." Anders gushed, shedding his pack with alacrity.

     "Belay that." I ordered, turning to the berserker. "Oghren, what are you on about? We still have daylight left."

     "Yep, that we do." he nodded. "What we don't have is a functionin' commander." I opened my mouth to protest and the dwarf shushed me. "I know, I know, I've seen ya kickin' an' killin' with yer insides practically hangin' out, but this is a different matter. We got three blind kittens in the Deep Roads an' you're the only one they'll all hear out. You go faintin' on me an' all we got is three blind kittens and one drunk dwarf."

     Ire pursed my lips together and I frowned. "You could have at least spoken with me before giving orders." I replied, frustrated.

     Oghren chuckled. "Fer all the good that'd do, Salem. You rival Branka for stubbornness. Now take a load off an' let us get a fire goin' an' some food in our guts. Might not kill ya to close your eyes for a bit, neither."

     _This makes no sense,_ I pinched the bridge of my nose and cursed my trembling right leg. _Oghren is many things...a functional drunk, a fearsome berserker, and a freshly-minted Grey Warden, but this...this side of him, caring intuitive, I do not understand it._

     "Do as he says." I glanced to Anders and Nathaniel. "After all, we cannot see in the dark, can we?" They began the task of setting up camp and I glared down at Oghren. "What you really about, Oghren? If I did not know better, I'd think you soft-hearted."

     "'Tain't that." Oghren sighed as he tugged on his moustaches. "Just...Leliana ain't here, Salem. An' ya never looked after yourself but that she made ya. These others," he jerked his head at Anders, Velanna, and Nathaniel, "they don't know ya, an' that's fine. You can push yourself to the moon an' back; it's a fool thinks ya can't, but that don't mean ya gotta. An', if Leliana ever gets 'round ta visitin' ya, I need a reason to be in her good graces." he waggled his eyebrows and made a lewd gesture and I laughed in spite of the situation.

     _No matter your justifications or your protestations, Salem, he is right._ I sobered as I began to set out my bedroll in front of the fire Velanna had kindled. _I have **never** kept proper care of myself. The many, many times I could have died, Leliana dragged me back, healing my body. She healed my heart and my soul as well. Without her here, though...none of it seems to matter. And **that** is dangerous. I am grateful for the friends that I have. _

     I inhaled, deep, wincing as all of my bruises, scratches, and wounds made themselves known. "Thank you, Oghren."

     "You can thank me proper by keepin' that elf-mage from killin' us all." Oghren teased. "Don't wanna wake up with some damned root wrapped 'round my neck. Ain't a proper way to die, that."

     I chuckled as the dwarf shuffled off and shouted more orders about stewpots and dinner preparations. I sat down before the fire, stretching my right leg in front of me and massaging the muscles that I could feel trembling beneath my hands. My trousers were stained with dried blood and riddled with holes where Velanna's thorns had found their way beneath my armor.

     _Agatha Woolsey will have my head upon our return,_ I smiled at the thought. _Although, I should heed her advice, and realize that my days of anonymity as a noble are over and done._

     The grass shifted beside me and I glanced up as Velanna seated herself next to me. Her grey eyes, lit by the leaping flames, seemed less angry than before. She tucked strands of fine, platinum hair behind her pointed elfin ears.

     "I suppose I should apologize." she sounded anything but apologetic. "My...my Keeper would be appalled by my behavior towards you this day."

     "You followed your instincts, trying to find and rescue someone you love." I kept my voice low, understanding, though she did not say it, that Velanna would prefer our conversation went unheeded by the others. "There is no fault for that."

     "My instincts have made me a murderer."

     _I believe I am now seeing the woman who was first to her Keeper,_ I realized. _The hours we have been searching, she has remained largely silent...I think I now understand why. She has been remembering her past and her actions._

     "All assembled here have blood on their hands, Velanna." I told her. "Whatever our reasons, the stains remain. None but ourselves can ever absolve us of them."

     A bitter smile quirked her lips. "I still do not wish to believe that you are correct, Grey Warden. I want to believe that the shemlens did this...that there is justification in my actions...even now, I cannot believe I did not rip you apart while I had the chance."

     "Why did you not?" I could not help my curiosity. Velanna had been given no reason to believe my words, to trust a human. By all accounts, she would have been well-justified in tearing me to shreds.

     She turned to me, the sharpness of her features gentled by the firelight. "Your eyes." she said at last. "They hold grief, and pasts, and futures...and death. So much death. As though you have witnessed the very edge of mortality. You have a Keeper's eyes, Salem Cousland. Eyes that remember and cling to pain, but still look into the future."

     "Velanna..."

     "No more." she stood and brushed the dirt from her clothes. "I have said enough already, and I still hope that you are wrong. Not even an elf's eyes in a shem's face can persuade me otherwise."

     I shook my head and lay down on my bedroll, staring into the vast emptiness of the sky, watching the fading glow of the sunset and the first pinpricks of emerging stars. I closed my eyes, whispering a prayer, that those same stars would look down on Leliana, and find her warm, safe, and unburdened.

     I awoke with a knife at my throat.


	58. A Snake Among the Doves

**Leliana**

     "If the wind holds steady, we should reach the island in two days." Kathyra eyed the map that she had spread out on the floor of my cabin. "However, the weather on the Waking Sea is notoriously fickle in the spring. A storm could rise from out of nowhere and blindside..."

     "Stop borrowing trouble." I rested my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "We will not know what may happen until it transpires, and there are only so many contingencies one can plan for."

     "Speaks the woman who foresaw the Blight and its ending." the physician teased.

     I shrugged my shoulders. "We have no way of knowing, Kathyra. We might be attacked, or we might find nothing. In either case, let us prepare for the worst and think no more on it."

     Kathyra folded the map and nodded. "You speak wisdom and yet...yet I cannot deny that all of my nerves feel set aflame. Something has felt... _off_...about this venture from its outset. I tried to convince myself otherwise, that Beatrix would not compromise her Right hand...but this feels vaguely like a trap."

     Curiosity pricked me. "Does the Divine have any reason to mistrust Cassandra?" I asked.

     Kathyra shook her head. "No." an adamant tone. "Cassandra is _nothing_ if not loyal. However...the rest of the squad...each of these templars, save the three new recruits, were pulled from a separate squadron and combined into a new one. And I took the liberty of examining their records. Every single one of them is under suspicion for sympathizing with the mage rebellion effort."

     I looked out of the porthole to the setting sun and the swift-moving sea. "That is a...disturbing development, to say the least. Is Cassandra aware of this?"

     "I cannot say." Kathyra joined me and heaved a labored sigh. "I am outside of her confidence and under her suspicion more and more."

     I frowned. "You have me to thank for that egregious fate, I suspect."

     "I owe Cassandra nothing." Kathyra's eyes darkened. "And I was tiring of her company long before I met and...well...quite some time ago. My teeth are on edge, Leliana."

     _Mine are as well. How different this quest is from my last, wherein my leader bore all of our complete trust. Inasmuch as I loathed it, there was comfort in the knowledge that no harm would befall us because we knew that Salem would be there, shielding all of us with her body, determined to lose no one. Cassandra does not understand this aspect of leadership. She gives orders; she delegates...and I wonder if she has sentenced these questionable templars to their deaths...and me to my death as well._

     A soft, hesitant knock rang at the door.

     "Enter." I called.

     The door eased open and the templar private Kestrel slipped through the narrow space, her raven hair now unbound, hanging below her shoulders and shielding her features. She looked at me and offered a timid smile, but it fled and color drained from her face when she saw Kathyra. Kestrel snapped to attention and rendered a salute.

     "L...Lieutenant." she stammered in her soft voice, whose accent I could not quite place. "My apologies, Seeker Leliana, I thought you were alone."

     Kathyra narrowed her eyes at me. "You still manage to astound me." she ran her hand through her hair. "While not forbidden, it is rare that Seekers and templars associate off duty...oh, for the love of the Maker." she glared at Kestrel. "Stand at ease, Private..."

     "Ariyah, lieutenant." the templar replied. "Private Kestrel Ariyah." the private's ice green eyes flashed from me to Kathyra and I felt a soft tugging at the back of my mind, a sense of urgency that was not my own.

     "I watched the templars train today." I rested my hand on Kathyra's arm and the physician's skin seemed to heat at my touch. "Private Kestrel showed interest in learning a few swordsmanship techniques. I thought nothing amiss in the request, but if it breaches protocol..."

     "Oh, damn protocol." Kathyra smiled, surprising the young templar. "It is not as though you've a penchant for following orders, Leliana. Do as you will...though Cassandra wishes to plan strategies after sundown. Will you be joining us?"

     "Because our last session ended so pleasantly?" I inquired, glaring at Kathyra. "Perish the thought."

     "I assumed as much." Kathyra nodded, smiled at me, and exited the cabin.

     Kestrel sighed and the rigidity of her posture rushed out. "Seeker Leliana, I am afraid that I have not quite been honest. I should probably tell you..."

     "That you have not come to discuss with me the finer points of swordsmanship?" I smiled as surprise filled her gaze. "I am aware."

     "Maker's bloody..." she paused as she realized that swearing by the Maker might not be something oft done amongst true templars. "How?"

     "Intuition." I answered. "Though I have no doubt that you do, in fact, wish to learn the dual-wielding technique, I can sense that your visit _this_ evening has a different purpose. Am I incorrect?"

     She shook her head as her skin paled to the color of frost. Fear colored her movements as she wandered further into the cabin, her eyes flitting to the dark corners as though she sought someone who might be hiding there, eavesdropping. She moved with the grace of a dancer, but not the broad confidence particular to those learned in the art. There was something about her that I recognized and remembered...a similarity between us that I could not quite ferret out.

     "We are alone." I assured her, intrigued further and further. "I can guarantee you of that, as I can promise you my secrecy in whatever it may be that you wish to confide."

     She dropped to her knees beside me as I sat down on my bunk, a sigh of relief flowing out of her lungs as I anticipated yet another of her needs.

     "I was hoping...hoping that you were different." a quivering smile quirked her pale lips. "I mean, you defeated Cassandra Pentaghast in single combat, so I know that you are not afraid of her. Then, you actually spoke to the templars even though your rank and station far exceed ours...and you...you were kind. Also, you are married to the Hero of Ferelden and that gave me...I mean to say...I hoped..." she trailed off, still afraid and almost...ashamed?

     I reached out and placed my hand on the girl's shoulder, noticing how it trembled. "What were you hoping for, Kestrel?"

     Her eyes locked with mine. "Something is _not_ right here." she echoed Kathyra's suspicions. "I may be new, but I am quiet, and I...I hear things and...something is wrong. Every member of our squad is under suspicion or outright investigation. I knew Bronson and Rylie were; Bronson is a non-believer who needs the coin. His sister is ill, his father dead, and his mother is in debtor's prison, but he does not heed the Chant of Light and he doesn't believe in his vows. Rylie is a dear girl, and good with a sword, but she is quite opinionated and cannot keep a decent rein on her tongue. She is sympathetic to the mages, and vocal about it at inopportune times. I try my best to keep her in check but she doesn't...doesn't listen."

     I listened with interest, wondering why Kestrel had chosen me for her confidant. Surely she would have felt more at ease speaking with the other templars, especially those she had trained with. However, I would take her words at face value, for what they were. "Go on." I urged.

     "When we assembled for our first briefing, I recognized _everyone's_ names from the rumor mill." she stated. "I am certain that you know how soldiers can be...how soldiers can _talk_. Even Sergeant Alan was demoted last year when they found out that his cousin is a mage. Not even an apostate, but a _Circle mage,_ and they took Sergeant Alan's lieutenancy because he _might_ be a sympathizer. I...I do not think he is, but I have no way of knowing and you..."

     "Why do you think you can trust me, Kestrel?" I asked the question so as to make the revelation easier for her.

     " _Everyone_ has heard about the Hero of Ferelden." Kestrel whispered, but I noticed, with relief, that some color seemed to be returning to her cheeks. "And we have all heard that she traveled with a mage, and an apostate, _and_ a former templar...and that she saved the Ferelden Circle from the Right of Annulment. I thought...I thought that maybe...maybe if you agreed with what she seemed to believe, that mages are people, just simple, innocent people who did not ask for their fate...that I could trust you."

     She looked up at me, her icy eyes softened by the tremulous, childlike hope in them. "I harbor no fear of mages." I told her. "And I have no love of the Chantry's treatment of them. I was in full agreement when Salem petitioned King Alistair to look into easing the restrictions placed on the Ferelden Circle."

     "She...she _did_ that?" Kestrels eyes widened with awe. I nodded and smiled. "Good." her voice hardened. "Than I know that I can trust you, at least in this."

     "Trust me in what?" I asked, realizing that she had not revealed to me the reason that she lay under suspicion. "Are you sympathetic to the mages, Kestrel? Will it impair your actions should this mission take a turn for the worse?"

     "No, ma'am...I mean, Leliana...no. The mission won't suffer, but if something should happen, I need...I need someone..."

     "I must confess that I do not understand." I said, keeping my voice low so that she did not sense it as an accusation.

     Kestrel looked at me with pleading eyes. "I do not just sympathize with the mages." she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. She cupped her hands together and my eyes widened in surprise as a small ball of flame kindled between them and flickered higher. "I am one."


	59. The Sickening Damnation of Living

**Salem**

     "Cry for aid and I will slit your throat." a harsh voice warned me in a tone I knew all too well.

     I stared upwards at the stars, refusing to meet the eyes of the man who despised me, feeling the sharp metal against my throat as an eerie serenity filled me. I had known who held the blade the instant I felt it against my skin; anticipated the eventuality the moment I closed my eyes in rest. I had been wounded. I had bled. Men without honor stalked the wounded creature, killed it, and crowed victory as though they had truly won.

     "I am not the sort given to screaming for rescue." I closed my eyes and let a smile cross my lips, simply to annoy my would-be assassin. "Kill me, if you so desire."

     "Do not tempt me." the blade bit further into my neck. "What were you attempting to prove, Cousland? The way you hold yourself superior _sickens_ me and your idiocy nearly got us _killed!"_

     "I am superior to no one, nor do I pretend to be." I said, daring him to draw the blade across my throat. "And I have nothing that I need to prove, although you have proven something to me, perhaps with intention, perhaps without."

     "Have I?" an arrogant sneer. "Pray enlighten me."

     "You proved yet again that Howes are, by nature, reprehensible and weak. Look at yourself, Nathaniel. I am wounded; I was sleeping, and only _now_ do you have the wherewithal to confront me. You are despicable, Howe, and not worth my time, even if you do hold a blade to my throat."

     Nathaniel forced the aforementioned blade deeper into my skin and I felt blood trickle across my neck. "Your life is in my hands." he hissed. "Give me one reason not to avenge my father's blood?"

     "Nothing I can say will persuade you, Nathaniel. We both know this. You either do not have the strength to kill me, or you do not truly want me dead. Whichever it is, please decided quickly. I am tired and should like to return to sleep."

     _I **did** expect this from you, Nathaniel Howe. Perhaps not this soon, but I knew that one night I would wake to find your knife across my neck. I have had my vengeance against your family, and my better nature will not let me kill you. But, though you did not know it until this night, I stand at the place where I no longer care if I live or if I die. I am not meant to be in this world. To let me live will be torture and vengeance enough...why can none of you see that? _

     Nathaniel flung his body over mine, pinning me down, and placed the tip of his blade at my heart. "You _stole **everything**_ from me!" he screamed in a whisper. "My title, my lands, and now my _life!"_

     "I saved your life." I reminded him. "Or do you not recall?"

     "Bitch." he seethed. "Do you think you endeared yourself to me with that foolishness!?" the tip of his dagger pricked the scar beneath my heart, sending shockwaves of pain through my chest. "What was your intent, Salem? To indulge your vaunted nobility so that you can forget plunging your knife through my father's gut? To ease your panging conscience?"

     With every word spoken, his blade invaded my skin. Anger bubbled within my veins and I fought to keep my hands still, to let him keep moving the steel inside my heart...to let my death embrace me as it should have done at the top of Fort Drakon. I closed my eyes, willing to accept the inevitable, to release the pain, the tension, the nightmarish burden.

     _Salem!_ The same voice that had persuaded me to allow Nathaniel to live blistered into my ears, harsh and stormy and lilting with the beautiful Orlesian accent. _Salem, you **promised!** You promised **me!**_

     "Please," I closed my eyes and whispered to the voice, not caring if Nathaniel heard or bore witness to this moment of my insanity, "please, let me break _one_ promise. Just once...let me go back on my word. Let me rest." I sighed, deep and heavy and sorrowful. "Let me rest."

     I had promised Leliana that I would not die, that I would not throw my life away. But I did not know, now, if I would ever see her again. The tremendous joy, encompassing love, and blinding brilliance that she had brought into my life had disintegrated at her absence. My strength of will, the integrity of my spirit, my desire to fight for the world...all of that...was nearly gone.

     "What promise, Salem?" Nathaniel asked, his voice dripping with malevolence.

     "This one." I reached up and wrapped one hand around his throat; with my other hand I pulled his knife from my chest before he could react.

     I rose from the ground and rammed the hilt of his own knife against his jaw, stunning him, using that to flip him over onto his back. I covered him with my body as he had done me, resting my knee over his manhood and warning him with the uncomfortable pressure there _not_ to move.

     "Make no mistake, Nathaniel Howe." I spat the words. "I want you dead. I would have let that sylvan kill you if there were not a better conscience and a stronger heart aligned with mine, reminding me of Who. I. Am."

     The fear in his grey eyes sickened me. He had attacked me when I was exhausted and wounded, thinking that he could overpower me. However, Nathaniel had no knowledge of the things that I had endured. He would never understand...no one ever would. None but those who had spent the frantic, frenetic year fighting against the Blight with me. None but the woman who held my heart.

     "I would have let you kill me." I leaned in close and edged the blade further and further against his skin. "I would love _nothing_ more than to surrender and enter on my _well-deserved_ reward, but I am bound here by a promise made to the very _reason_ you still draw breath."

     Understanding filtered into his features as he realized that his life had _never_ been in my hands. That, in my heart, I had already killed him, many times over. That, beneath and behind the legend of Salem Cousland, there lurked a dark heart, full of wrathful humanity that desired his blood and my own ruination. A dark heart kept in check by a love so powerful it defied death itself.

     "So," he gasped as he felt the blade press further against his skin, "you...won't kill me?"

     "No." I cast his knife into the darkness and moved myself off of his body, pressing my hand to the wound on my chest and feeling the stickiness of blood. "No matter my desires to the contrary, I will spill no more of Rendon Howe's blood. Let the Maker damn you all...it is not my place."

     "You...you want to die?" it seemed as though he could not comprehend the notion; could not comprehend a life that desired its ending.

     I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. "Every day." I confessed, for it did not matter if he knew. He would not raise a weapon against me again, of this I was certain. "It is as things should be. Look at me, Nathaniel. Examine what you know of me and tell me...do I belong in this world?"

     His brow furrowed in consideration, setting aside his grudges and his beliefs and the lies he had been told. I could see him reflecting on my actions, the mercy I had shown him, taking the blow from the sylvan, taking the arrow from his bow in order to save Velanna...and to save them from being ripped apart by her magic.

     "No." he answered, at long last. "No."

     "So kill me, Nathaniel." I laughed. "Kill me by allowing me to live."

     His lips quirked in a confused smile and he shook his head. 'I do not think I should even attempt to understand you."

     I collapsed back onto my bedroll, resuming my meditation on the stars. "A wise choice." I told him, shuddering as I realized how very close I had come to committing suicide by murder. "A wise choice indeed."

     In the darkness, I heard Nathaniel slink away. My throat tightened as I gazed at the night sky, remembering one who would be in tears if she had borne witness to what transpired between me and the son of my family's murderer. The one who would hold my hand, meet my eyes and beg...beg me to live. Beg me to remain. To fight. To struggle. To keep faith.

     "Forgive me, dear heart," I whispered to Leliana as tears filled my eyes and streamed down. "Please, forgive me."

     I curled into myself, pretending that the pain from my wounds caused the tears that would not cease. That it was not my failure, or my weakness, or my willingness to surrender my own life.

     _I am failing her...I am losing her...come back, Leliana. Please, please, return to me. I...I need you so much._


	60. Concealed in Plain Sight

**Leliana**

     Awe and shock filled me in equal measure as I watched the fire dance between Kestrel's fingers, completely at home and under control. However, I also noticed the intense concentration on her face as she focused on what, for a schooled mage, would be as easy and natural as breathing.

     _Regardless of the ease with which she casts...how is this possible?_ I shook my head, praying that it would somehow cause the fire to vanish. _No mage could insinuate themselves amongst the templars. **Especially**_ _not in Val Royeaux, the seat of the Divine herself!? ...or...or could they?_

     "You...you _are_ afraid, aren't you?" Kestrel breathed, her eyes searching mine for some sort of comfort, hope, or reassurance. "I apologize, Seeker. I should never have..."

     "Hush." I placed my hands beneath hers and gentle curled her fingers inward, extinguishing the flames. "I assure you that I am not afraid. I am...in awe. Kestrel, how did you manage this? Why...why a templar? Are you one of the rebel mages? Is there something you know about this mission..."

     "No." she shook her head, vehement. "No. I have seen the acts of rebels and maleficar and they are..." she shuddered, "...evil. I just...I am an only child, Leliana. My origins are not spectacular, but I was loved. Even when my mother and father found out that I had magic, I was loved."

     My heart warmed at the fervor in her voice. "It's all right." I said as I saw emotions warring in her eyes. "You have nothing to fear from me, Kestrel."

     "I...I believe you." her voice trembled and she drew the back of her hand across her eyes. "My father was a thief...in Ferelden. He had connections in Denerim...friends and...and even..."

     "Apostates?" I asked, smiling as she nodded in affirmation.

     "He sent my mother and me away when they found out I had magic. I learned control from an apostate mage...enough to make me...useful. About a year later, we returned to the city and I helped my father until...until Ostagar. When Loghain returned, the contingent of the Kingsguard in Denerim attacked his men, for rumors of his treachery arrived in the city before the man himself. We had heard of the Blight and were going to remain in the city but...but my father was caught and killed in the skirmishing and labeled a seditionist after the fact. Loghain's men were hunting me and my mother, and all other 'seditionists'...they broke down doors, indiscriminately killing anyone they suspected." she visibly shuddered. "Martial _fucking_ law."

     _You poor girl_ , I reached out and smoothed her hair, wondering when I had become a beacon for suffering, traumatized women. "What happened?" I asked, desiring to hear her story to its finish.

     "We fled." a lopsided, bitter grin quirked her lips. "We fled north, to Kirkwall, like so many other Fereldens. We had enough to pay off the guards to get us into the city...but we had just come in from the docks when the streets were flooded with templars. Knight-Commander Meredith, incensed by the influx of refugees, had declared a witch hunt. They were arresting Ferelden apostates, dragging them to the Gallows and...I gave my mother what coin I had left and I ran. I intended to come back, but the city was so dangerous for mages. A month went by and I was starving. Desperate. From the thieves and sailors I'd met on the Wounded Coast, I gleaned enough information to know that...to know that my mother thought me dead and that...and that she was living well in Kirkwall now, a seamstress in Hightown." Her voice grew thick with grief. "I couldn't jeopardize that life for her...not by making her worry about her mage daughter in a city where magic is as good as a death sentence. I knew my father had relatives in Val Royeaux...so I worked my way across the Waking Sea on a merchant vessel, and went to find my family."

     _This story will not end well, I think._ Kestrel's icy green eyes had darkened, looking now like the sky before a tornado descended from the heavens.

     "I thought I could trust them." she whispered. "My father loved me in spite of my magic, and I believed his blood kin would be as little troubled by it as he. That was...that was not so. They drugged me." she shuddered again. "They drugged me with full intention to sell me to a corrupt templar Knight-Captain. He would buy mages, you see, and pit them against each other in fights to the death, gathering his wealth from doing so. I managed to awaken before they reached the appointed place of meeting and once again...I ran. I was beyond exhausted, still malnourished and...and tired of running. I realized that, as an apostate, life would never be quiet and never be safe. So I did what any thief would."

     "You hid in plain sight." I marveled at the young woman's determination and courage, even as my heart hurt for her grief. "But, Kestrel...how? I know a former templar; I was told that they seek out potential mages so that the ranks cannot be infiltrated. So that what you have done is...impossible."

     "They make up stories." Kestrel wrapped her arms around herself. "About being able to detect magic but...but there is only one way to truly discover a mage, and that is to witness them using magic. Everything else is fiction, Leliana. The Templar's test is nothing more than intense torture...enough pain to force a mage into using magic to defend themselves...and to make a normal human pass out."

     "Maker's blood-soaked breath." I gasped at the revelation. Alistair had never told us of this bizarre, cruel initiation rite. "How did you manage it? And why would you desire to?"

     "I did not want to die." she explained, matter-of-fact, the logic of a thief. "You always do what it takes to survive. As for how I managed..." she held her left arm out in front of me and pulled up her sleeve, showing me the thick, vertical line of scar tissue on the inside of her forearm. "I cut myself...just enough blood loss to make myself weak so that when...when they did what they did, I could not summon the energy to cast a spell, no matter how much I desired to."

     "Kestrel, that is...I am at a loss for words." I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. "And no one thought anything different of you? I know that you and all the templars here are under suspicion. Why are you being watched? Is it because they think you might be a mage?"

     Worry filtered into her green eyes, muting the frigid sharpness they possessed. "I do not know." she confessed. "Initial training was simple. Physical conditioning, swordsmanship, archery...those things came easily. But then we passed the first trials and...and they...they began to make us drink lyrium." she shivered and eased closer to me, as though needing physical contact to assure herself that she would be all right. "I nearly died the first time I drank lyrium." she confessed. "I did not know what it would do, and I spiked a fever that nearly killed me. It has not been so bad since then, but it is becoming more difficult." her face paled. "I _have_ to drink the lyrium, but it just makes my magic harder to control. I've...I've had slip ups during training. Nothing too drastic, but perhaps an overly luminous 'holy smite', or being able to hold a cleansing field in place for longer than any of my counterparts but...but our trainers watch out for just those inconsistencies. We are always being watched."

     "Why did you choose to come to me?" I asked her. "Why do you wish to trust me with this, Kestrel?"

     Kestrel hung her head and her voice softened. "I was a thief, Leliana, a _very_ good thief. One thing a thief knows by sight is an honest man...a good person. I could sense it from you when I met you on deck. Your presence, your voice...it is...it is as though no one can touch you. I...in the battle, if there is a battle...I might...I might have to..."

     "Use magic?" I asked, touched by her perception of me. "Why do you believe that?"

     "I'm no rogue mage." her features hardened. "I'm a templar, Leliana. Yes, I needed the pay, and I needed the protection and an end to the constant running, but I've seen the damage rebel mages can cause and I'll have none of it. Those who are oppressed can only go so far before they are not just defending themselves but _hurting_ others needlessly, and punishing the innocent for the crimes of a very few. I'll protect my comrades here, no matter _what_ I have to do. Sergeant Alan is a good man, and Bronson is a friend and Rylie...Rylie is...special to my heart. I will break my charade in a heartbeat if it means keeping them safe."

     "And you are onboard a ship with the Right Hand of the Divine." I followed the trail of her thoughts to its conclusion, my heart warming at her confession, her devotion, and her unimaginable strength. "Who is notorious for her dislike of mages, and who will act as judge and executioner...there will not even be a trial, no matter your actions."

     Kestrel nodded, lips pursed, jaw tight. "I still have no desire to die." she stated. "I am tired of being punished for being born with a gift I had no control over. I do not want to be feared, I..." tears gathered in her eyes and I moved off of the bunk and wrapped her in a brief embrace.

     "Do not worry about Cassandra." I told her. "I will not let her harm you."

     "Thank you." she leaned her head against my shoulder and I realized that her life must have been terrible in its loneliness, fraught with fear at every waking moment. "I...I believe in the Maker." she sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I do not think He got it quite right when it comes to mages but...but I believe."

     "The Maker loves all creation." I whispered, not knowing why the words spilled from my lips. "Even the mages. Andraste...Andraste misinterpreted the message, and this entire world has suffered because of her actions."

     Confusion swirled in Kestrel's eyes and she drew away. "Those are a heretic's words." she mused. "But you...you're a Seeker, are you not?"

     "And a heretic." I smiled, sharing a secret of my own. "And, in my own way, a thief."

     "A thief?" she asked, wondering if her instincts had led her astray. "What is it you have stolen...or...are stealing?"

     "The lies of the world." I told her. "I intend to replace them with the truth, Kestrel. Truth about the Exalted March, the truth about the mages, the truth about the Maker's will in Thedas."

     "You are...this is..." she stammered, but her eyes widened in excitement.

     "I am more dangerous than any rogue mage." I reached out and took her hand. "For my gospel is terrifying in its simplicity, yet earth-shattering in its ramifications."

     "Your gospel?" the young templar seemed bewildered and I did not blame her, but inasmuch as she needed me to hold her secret, I needed another to hold mine. And this young woman, with her devotion, her fervor, and her pure heart, had proven worthy of this trust.

     "Yes."

     Her eyes swelled with hope. "I _knew_ it." her soft voice rose, heightened by excitement. "In my dreams, the Fade...the demons and spirits are whispering. They are afraid, afraid for they say the temptation of the mages is soon to come to an end...that the Maker has awoken from his slumber and...and anointed a new prophet." her skin seemed to radiate with light. "It...Maker's blood=soaked breath...it's _you_."

     Confidence filled me and strength washed through my veins as I extended my hand to Kestrel and, for the first time, declared in words what I had been told by a god. "Indeed it is."

     Kestrel lowered her head and her hair shielded her face. Her hands curled into fists, then unclenched as she lifted her eyes to mine. "it's safe with me." she promised. "I will not tell a soul, I _swear_ on my vows."

     "You needn't make such promises." I comforted her, not wanting her to feel burdened by my unsolicited confession.

     "I do." she countered. "You do not understand, Leliana. For...for the first time, since I realized I had magic..." her breath rushed out and a wide smile spread across her features, "...I'm not afraid."

     She rose to her feet, seeming far and away from the young, timid girl who had entered my cabin. I watched her leave, tears of my own spilling down my cheeks.

     _The beauty of trust, the beauty of love..._ my heart felt swollen with joy... _it is stunning._

     _"Can you imagine a world without fear?" _ the Maker's words and Salem's voice whispered in my ear. " _This is the world my love would create...where none who breathe have fear of man's wrath against their nature. Where actions and intentions, not heredity and blood, color the fate of my children."_

     A fervor filled my heart, a devotion I had not felt since the early days at the Lothering Chantry. "I will build it." I vowed to the Maker, to the emptiness, to my own soul. "I will build it."


	61. Down into the Belly of the Beast

**Salem**

     "Anyone else feel queasy?" Anders wondered aloud, accompanied only by the occasional drip of water from the overhanging stalactites. "I feel queasy...and my nose has not been this offended since...never."

     "Here." Oghren tossed the mage his flask, and Anders frowned.

     "It is not wise for a mage to become inebriated..." he began, but Oghren interrupted him with a harsh bray of laughter.

     "Sniff it." the dwarf advised. "It'll burn yer nose and hopefully shut yer yap."

     I attempted to restrain the smile that crossed my features, but failed. The morning's search had led us to the entrance of an old mine. Oghren had sniffed the stone and said it smelled faintly of silverite, but the overwhelming odor was that of darkspawn. Those who had raided Velanna's camp had made this their refuge, of that I was certain.

     What I did not know is if these were the darkspawn that had perpetrated the raid on Vigil's Keep.

     _If they are...Maker help them, for it will be a swift vengeance I wreak and a wrath so great that the world has yet to witness it._

     Anders uncapped the flask and inhaled deeply, staggering against the wall and dry heaving. Oghren broke out in laughter and Nathaniel followed. Velanna merely shook her head at the antics of the shemlen and the dwarf. She drew closer to me, her grey eyes fraught with worry.

     "Are you certain, Salem?" she asked. "Certain that this is the lair of the darkspawn? Will we find Seranni..."

     She did not finish the question, letting the word hang in the rank air with a sickening hope. _Alive?_

     "I am certain that this is where the darkspawn have made their camp." I told her, debating on whether or not to reach out, offer her my physical touch and my words as an attempt at comfort. I opted for words alone. "As your sister...that is in the hands of the Creators."

     Velanna quirked her brows and shook her head in something I perceived as wonderment. "You are no normal shem." she commented as we moved further into the caves. "So many of you are focused so strictly on the edicts of your Maker that all other gods are forgotten."

     The corners of my mouth turned down as I remembered the wrath of a vengeful god, locked in the body of a dragon; its blue fire and furious claws. "I have killed a god." I muttered, recalling the wedding night, the pallor of Leliana's skin, the blood on her face, the cries wrenched fro her lips as she heard a voice not meant for mortal ears. "I have seen the prophet of the Maker...I would be a fool to ignore the many gods still reigning in Thedas."

     "Do you worship them?" Velanna asked, attempting a peaceful conversation as my words piqued her Keeper's curiosity. "Is there a god who can hold the heart of Salem Cousland, Hero of Ferelden?"

     The teasing note in her voice did not go unnoticed, but, after the events of last night, I had no heart for laughter.

     "No." I answered, finding the truth of my revelation painful. "I worship no god."

     "Curious, that." Velanna shook her head. "My Keeper taught me that we are nothing without our faith. Elves, dwarves, men...we all look to something beyond ourselves, even if it is merely the accomplishments of our ancestors."

     Even in the darkness, barely illuminated by the mage's light carried by both Anders and Velanna, I could see the shadows of doubt in her eyes. My confession had whispered to the damaged part of her soul, the part that had lost everything and found what vengeance she could gain so very, very hollow.

     "Where do you stand, Velanna?" I asked, my tone gentle, non-accusatory.

     "Betwixt and between." her brow creased and her eyes hardened. "But I have no wish to speak of myself. I will keep my faith until I discover Seranni's fate."

     "Do not hang your hopes on the whims of merciful gods." my voice sounded dead, and it terrified me.

     _Have I truly lost hope?_ I wondered, watching my footing as the pathway into the cave slanted downward, bringing us closer to the ugly chattering of the darkspawn that crawled across my consciousness. _Have I forsaken my belief, so jaded by all that I have lost, so filled with hatred because of what was stolen from me? I lost my faith that night in Highever...and found it returned to me when Leliana entered my life, speaking of dreams and breathing a love and a spirit into my soul grown long cold. Then...then...then a **god** took her away from me._

     "I must hope that gods are more merciful than men." Velanna quipped. "Or darkspawn. If they are not, then there will be none who offer mercy to the Dalish. Or any elves, for that matter."

     "I am certain," I whispered, on my guard as the path widened into a large chamber, "that somewhere, there exists a god of mercy. But all the Maker has sought from me is sacrifice, and I tire of paying debts that I do not owe in flesh and bone and blood."

     _He would have had me paid me for my service in a merciful death...but I wanted to **live.** I wanted to **love.** I wanted to embrace my human heart and **rejoice** in the victory...but no. No! She was too good for me. I knew from the first...and should have persisted in believing...and spared the both of us this pain._

     Velanna scoffed as the five of us edged into the cavern, Nathaniel with his bow strung and arrow nocked, Anders' hand flaring with a spell, Oghren's axe at the ready, and my swords drawn.

     "This don't feel right." the dwarf growled. "What do you make of it, Salem?"

     I edged in further, feet spaced evenly apart, arms and blades fully extended, expecting an attack as the sickening aura of darkspawn presence closed in on me.

     _The are close,_ I thought, scenting the air, attempting to get a fix on their location. _Very, very close._

     "What in..." Anders looked up in shock and I turned...

     A concussive blast struck through the chamber and I watched my companions fall to the ground, unconscious, as m own legs gave out and I crashed to the ground, swords torn from my limp hands. I collapsed to the earth, wounds burning, hand pressed to my chest, struggling to breathe.

     A tall, inhuman figure hovered in my vision. My eyes threatened to close and I forced them open, glaring at my enemy. I could sense the taint but it was...different...calm, not roiling with wrath and wordless malice.

     "Forgive me, warden." the figure spoke in an urbane tone, cultured and crisp, not at all like that of the darkspawn I had spoken to at Vigil's Keep. "Forgive me for what I must do."

     A blinding, numbing pain washed through my body and I gave in to whatever magic had felled me, wondering if death had come at last...

     _No..._ my last coherent thought... _that...would require...a merciful god._


	62. Naked Grandeur, Naked Soul

**Leliana**

     "Andraste's ass!" a frustrated groan echoed across the deck of the sip and over the surface of the water. "This is impossible!"

     "Rylie, hush." Kestrel's calmer tones intervened, though her voice bore the same strain.

     I smiled as I watched the young women standing straight, arms extended, a full size sword gripped in each hand. They had been standing in this manner for nearly a candlemark, an exercise to build the muscle's strength and resilience, for to hold the weight still took nearly as much fortitude and strength as it did to wield it.

     "You are doing well." I offered encouragement, watching with a smile as determination filtered into viridian and raven eyes.

     Kathyra came to stand beside me, eyeing the young Templars and narrowing her gaze at the exercise they were currently engaged in.

     "Not to play the fool, Leliana," the physician spoke, "but...what are they doing?"

     "Training." I shielded my eyes from the sun and turned to face the Seeker, grateful that we were speaking as friends once again. "Both showed interest in learning the Hero of Ferelden's sword technique. Unfortunately, without proper training, wielding two full swords will cause more damage to them than the enemy."

     Kathyra nodded her understanding. "I am surprised that Cassandra has not curtailed this." she observed.

      I shrugged my shoulders. "Perhaps she is so pleased with my absence from her presence that she is willing to overlook such minor infringements of protocol."

      Kathyra crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg in an unconsciously provocative pose. I turned my attention to Kestrel and Rylie, admiring the former's strength. The hidden mage's face remained impassive; the sole strain she showed was in the set of her lips and the taut muscles of her neck. One could ascertain, simply from watching her, that she had been through trials and tribulations. Rylie, on the other hand, appeared to be flagging. She appeared pale in the sunlight, her lips were quivering with every shuddering breath, and sweat poured down her face.

     A few moments later, the young templar dropped her swords and listed forward, dropping to her knees. Kestrel immediately relinquished her pose, setting her blades aside and kneeling beside her friend. Kathyra rushed forward and I followed, concerned that it might have been too much too soon.

     "I'm..." Rylie gasped as Kathyar probed the muscles of her shoulders. The templar's face creased in pain. "I'm all right." she gasped as her eyelids fluttered.

     "You locked your knees." Kathyra stated, feeling Rylie's forehead with the back of her hand. "I would wager that is the crux of it, as you have no symptoms of heat exhaustion. Private Ariyah," she looked up and the raven-haired woman nodded, "take her below decks. She needs plenty of water and rest until her dizziness passes. Also, both of you, make certain to stretch. It will alleviate a great deal of soreness from your muscles."

     Kestrel nodded, the worried look fading from her face as she realized Rylie would be all right. "Yes, lieutenant."

     "In this company, call me Kathyra." the physician smiled and Kestrel's expression eased further.

     I wondered if the physician would be so kind if she knew Kestrel's secret. I prayed she would be, although her fear of mages and understandable anger towards them would be difficult to surmount.

     Kestrel helped Rylie to her feet and the incorrigible templar flashed me a wicked grin. "Stupid." she shook her head, mocking herself. "I'll be smarter next time, Seeker Leliana. Maker's breath," she rolled her shoulders and turned to Kestrel, grimacing, "how strong do you have to be to learn this?"

     Kathyra rose from her knees and brushed them off, watching the templars go below decks. Her lips pursed and her brow creased in contemplation. "Strong enough to kill a god, I would imagine." she muttered an answer to Rylie's question, and the exact words that had been in my thoughts.

* * *

     _I emerge from my tent and stretch, smiling as the warm sun caresses my face. The pain from the bruises incurred yesterday is still present, though its intensity has faded. I bite my lip, wondering if the relief has come from last night's rest, or the conversation with the warden. Salem and I had spoken long into the night, sharing simple thoughts and stories. None of the conversations had any depth, but it eased an ache in my soul. Just listening to her voice..._

_**Low and rough, like a shallow, heated stream over smooth rocks. Harsh like aged whiskey, smooth across the surface and burning as it ventures deeper...a very pleasant burn.** I shook my head, as though coming awake from a too-pleasant dream. **Get control of yourself, Leliana! Maker's breath, Ferelden is facing the greatest crisis of this Age and I am thinking a schoolgirl's thoughts!**_

_A frustrated sigh catches my attention and I turn to see Morrigan angrily stoking the fire. I roll my eyes and convince myself to attempt civility, at least this morning._

_"Good morning, Morrigan."_

_Her eerie golden eyes flash to mine in irritation, "'Tis true the sun has risen." she says, snide. "Though if that possesses an innate goodness, I am unconvinced."_

_I grit my teeth in frustration and force a smile, looking around the camp. There is no sign of Alistair or Salem and a profound, irrational fear fills my heart._

_**Why,** I struggle to regain control of my wayward emotions, **why is the first thought in my heart that she has abandoned me? We scarcely know each other,** I pressed a hand to my forehead and shook my head, attempting to clear it. _

_"Have you seen Salem?" I ask, grateful that my voice does not tremble, so that the witch cannot find yet another vulnerability to mock as she peels it apart._

_Morrigan remains fixated on the fire. "She woke me for my watch and informed me that she was going to the stream." the witch sighs. "She has yet to return."_

_"Thank you, Morrigan."_

_I set off for the stream, trying desperately to untangle my hair with my fingers...attempting to convince myself that I am concerned for my physical appearance for some reason **beyond** Salem's approval. I find my way through the trees, stopping short and clinging to the trunk of one, taking in the glorious sight before me. _

_Salem stands straight, on the balls of her feet, arms fully extended, holding a sword in each hand. Her discarded shirt lies tossed on the grass, leaving her clad in nothing but her breastband and trousers. Sweat glistens on her pale skin and her taut, corded muscles ripple with the strain she is placing on her body. My heart catches in my throat as I see the two star-shaped scars on her abdomen, remnants of the injuries she received at Ishal._

_Salem pivots with a dancer's grace, sweeping her swords before her in an arc with an eerie, lethal silence. I watch, mesmerized as the warden performs a series of acrobatic movements, her blades a constant flurry, their sharp edges coming dangerously close to her skin...never touching it. Her eyes are closed in concentration, her hair damp with sweat, her breath harsh with exertion. With flawless footwork she moves through the grasses, silent in her steps, the only sound the slicing of her blades through the air. She is lethality and grace, brutality and beauty...she is glory itself._

_I bite my lip as shivers whisper down my spine and across my skin, as a longing I thought dead sweeps over me. **To touch,** I imagine myself wrapped in those strong arms, cocooned in the scent of iron and salt, **to feel again. To entrust my body into another's hands,** fear grips my heart and I gasp, flushing crimson as Salem's balance falters and her eyes open, that miraculous silver-blue. _

_**Those eyes would close if they witnessed the wreck of my body,** I cringe as my dreams collapse before even truly opening. **Her hands would fling me away in disgust and her voice would hold...pity. I want no one's pity! **_

_"Leliana?"_

_**What in hell!? **I clench my hands into fists as my knees go weak at the sound of her voice. _

_"G...Good morning." I stumble over the greeting, despising my awkwardness when faced with her perfection._

_The warden rights her balance and stands before me, backlit by the sun, the image of strength and confidence. The scars that mar her skin do nothing but add to her statuesque figure. A soft smile flits across her face and vanishes like a whisper in the dark._

_"Good morning." she returns the greeting, and concern enters her eyes. "Did you rest well? How are you feeling?"_

_I emerge from behind the tree, feeling so very young and foolish. "My ribs are slightly tender still." I admit. "But much better than yesternight."_

_"I am glad of it." the warmth of her tone causes me to shiver. She tucks her sweat-dampened hair behind her ear, accentuating the sharp lines of her cheekbone and jaw. "We are staying in camp today." she informs me._

_"Salem, I am..." I begin to protest._

_"Leliana," she speaks my name and it is as though I am paralyzed, "I have no doubts as to your ability to fight. You have proven yourself many times over but...but you and Alistair were hurt, and I cannot risk either of you."_

_"Salem," **I do not wish her to think me weak, for I am not,** "I am certain that Alistair and I are more than able to continue."_

_"Very well then." she rests her hand on my shoulder and I flinch from the contact...even though I find myself craving it. Sensing my reaction, she pulls her hand away and I close my eyes, hating my weaknesses and fear. "Be that as it may, **I** need a day of rest." she soothes me. "But, I beg you, allow me to lay blame for it at your and Alistair's feet...I have already incurred Morrigan's wrath with the decision."_

_I cover my laugh with my hand. "As you wish." I nod agreement. "I shall shield you from the witch's ire."_

_**I know she is lying. Salem has pushed herself relentlessly these past seven days. She would no sooner insist on a day of rest for her benefit than I would confess to her my feelings. However...she could sense my fears and she showed...kindness. Marjolaine would never...never even consider my physical condition. If it interfered with her plans then I was...I was left behind. Replaced. Could it be that Salem truly...cares? **_

_"I am in your debt." Salem performs a gallant bow, and for a moment, it seems her aura of grief has lifted._

_She rolls her shoulders and I look away from the all too beautiful sight._

_"I should be...getting back to camp." I mumble. "I am quite certain that Alistair and Morrigan will be at each other's throats by now."_

_"You could join me." Salem offers, gesturing to the stream. "Remove the dirt of travels, ease our aching muscles...the water is cool. It might soothe your bruises."_

_I want nothing more than to accept the offer, but fear closes over me one again in a nauseating wave. **I cannot...cannot reveal to her what has been done to me. I have no wish to see the kindness in her eyes darkened and replaced with worry and...pity. No...no...I cannot.**_

_"Perhaps another time." I am unable to look her in the eye. "At this moment, my need for sustenance outstrips my desire for cleanliness." I attempt to fortify the weak words with a smile._

_A brief flash of...regret?...crosses her features and I wince. "I understand." she says. "But, please, Leliana, make certain that you rest. If you should require anything, call for me, and I will aid you however I may."_

_"I...I shall. Thank you, Salem."_

_I turn away, feeling a rush of heat spread across my cheeks as I make my way back to the camp, tripping on the underbrush. **What sort of leader offers their aid to one under their command?** I ask myself. **We are meant to ease her burden not...what sort of woman is she? Can such a nobility and selflessness exist in this world? **_

_The questions torment me for the rest of the day...as does the image of her sculpted, sweat-sheened body._

* * *

     "You are smiling in that infuriating manner again." Kathyra teased, jostling my side with her elbow.

     I hung my head and placed a hand to my cheek, finding it flushed with memory...memory and longing. "I apologize." I muttered.

     "No need." she clapped me on the shoulder. "I am intent on finding something that resembles food. Would you care to join me on this, the most daring of quests?"

     I nodded and followed behind her, my mind locked on the memory of a far darker, more dangerous quest. I remembered all of it. The fears, the losses...the **love.**

     _Please, Salem, keep safe. Keep strong.  You are my heart and my strength...and I am lost without you._


	63. Darkness and Thieves

**Salem**

     "So you are the warden commander?" the soft, urbane tone that had whispered us into darkness woke me from slumber.

     I struggled to peel my eyes open, and when, at last, I succeeded, my vision faded in and out as I struggled to focus on the...creature...that stood before me. It was tall and skeletal, with ashen grey skin and a golden, scythe shaped cover over where its eyes should be. A chestplate of steel ribs protected its torso, while tattered robes covered other various parts of anatomy that I did not even wish to consider.

     My entire body tensed and fought, desperate to stand, to find my companions, who were nowhere to be seen. I opened my mouth to speak when an impossibly long, delicate hand with curved, clawed fingertips rested on my shoulder. "There is no cause for alarm." it spoke. "Your injuries have been tended to."

     "My..." my voice came out ragged, harsh, and choked, "...my..."

     "Hush." it urged. "I ask for your forgiveness, Warden Commander Cousland. I had no desire to be your enemy, though I fear I have made myself so. Rest, now. Rest."

     I fought to get up, becoming more and more frustrated that, though I had not been restrained, I could not move. Weariness washed through me, an unpleasant lassitude, calming the beating of my heart, slowing my breathing, numbing the pain of what felt like ten thousand needles piercing my skin, and dragging me into yet another unwanted slumber.

* * *

     "She does not look so good." Anders' voice washed through my hearing. "At least allow me to assess what might be wrong."

     "She won't thank ya for it, pretty boy." Oghren gruffed, and I heard a frustrated sigh. "An' she'll be fine. Seen her walk away from worse than this a dozen times."

     "Oh, both of you, hush." Velanna's smooth, Dalish accent calmed the tension in the air. "Perhaps we might do something _useful_ , such as seeking an escape."

     "I have attempted picking the lock." Nathaniel muttered, dissatisfied. "If my tools had not been taken from me, perhaps...but it is too complex otherwise."

     Hearing that, I opened my eyes and then closed them once more, listening to my body. The aches from the bruises and wounds had vanished, and I realized our captor had spoken true of its care for my injuries. My head throbbed as I rose into a seated position and I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling through gritted teeth.

     "Thank the Creators." Velanna spoke as she extended a hand to help me rise. "I was considering a mass murder of these ingrates."

     "I empathize." I established my balance and took stock of our surroundings.

     Green crystals illuminated the remarkably clean jail cell. The ground was smooth stone, and it bore the appearance of a carefully created lair, rather than a recently invaded mine. Whoever had been here had spent a good deal of time modifying the tunnels, establishing a base of operations as opposed to a temporary shelter. A shiver ran down my spine as I thought of the...thing...that had spoken to me, touched me, healed me and hurt me. What was its purpose, its plan...why was it here, and why had it established for itself a place of permanence?

     _I feel I have been trapped in something that far outstrips my comprehension...something that goes far beyond the razing of a single Dalish camp. Maker, help us now. There is none other to turn to._

     "How...how are you feeling, commander?" Anders asked, his eyes averted and shoulders bunched. "The dwarf would not let me check for injuries, and you've been unconscious for quite some time."

     Nathaniel scoffed and mumbled something about fools who could not remain true to their convictions. I frowned, grateful that the mage seemed not to have heard. I did not wish to deal with another bickering argument.

     "I am all right." I assured Anders, wondering again at the strange young man who had found himself to be a warden.

     _He has a good heart, I am sure of it. But it is a heart that withers and grows bitter if life does not conform to its standards. A man like this will either be a savior or die a martyr for his cause...the way he lives will prohibit any other fate._

     "Are you," a voice came from the cell door, "are you the warden commander?"

     "I am." I turned and saw an elf in plate armor. She had white hair and faint tattoos, known to the Dalish as the vallaslin, that bore a remarkable resemblance to Velanna's.

     "Seranni!" Velanna exclaimed, grasping the cell bars and confirming my suspicions. "Sister! Are you all right? Have you been harmed?"

     "Velanna," Seranni's expression softened, though it remained tense with anxiety, "it is so good to see you. Forgive me," she turned her attention to me, "we haven't much time. The Architect has stripped your weapons from you and...and you should be able to find them, if you move quickly. But you must escape, you _must_."

     "Seranni, what can you tell us?" I pressed, eager for information and sensing that our limited time was even closer to its end. "Who is this 'architect'? Why were we taken."

     She shook her head. "I cannot say." she extended a key to me. "This is a master key. It should open everything, including the Architect's belongings. You might find something there that will help you but I...I cannot stay."

    She backed away from the cell.

    "Seranni!" Velanna cried. "Sister, please! Stay with us, we can...we can escape."

     Sorrow filtered through the younger elf's features, and in the dim green light I saw her bleached out eyes, a clear sign of tainted blood.

     _But her skin has not been eaten away, her mind is clear and strong, and she retains her full memory...she is unlike any other tainted being I have yet seen. First a darkspawn with the power of speech and now...now this? Maker, what is happening in this world? What is this great and shrouded mystery?_

     "I cannot, sister." Seranni whispered, reaching for Velanna before pulling away, leaving the Keeper's first confused and fighting back tears. "Stay...stay with the warden commander. She is a good woman, and our only hope. Creators protect you...I love you, Velanna."

     "Seranni!" Velanna cried, dropping to her knees as her sister fled the dungeons.

     I tossed the key to Oghren and knelt beside the distraught elf. "Velanna," I whispered, so that the others could not hear, "I need you _here_. I swear, I will do everything within my power to help find your sister and bring her back with us. But we need your help. We need you present in your own mind."

     Velanna's fists clenched and her face set into a mask of firm resolve. She rose on shaky legs and we walked through the open cell door, my senses flaring as darkspawn entered the room.

     "We have no weapons." Nathaniel observed the obvious as our enemies approached, the snarling, non-sentient darkspawn whom I had killed by the hundreds during the Blight.

     "The mages still have their magic." I said, clenching my hands into fists. "And if you're frightened, stay back. Oghren, with me. Anders, Velanna, do whatever you can, but bring them down."

     The dwarf and I rushed our attackers; I smirked as I heard hesitant footfalls behind us, Nathaniel following out of defiance and pride. Oghren tackled a hurlock at the knees, felling it and snapping its neck with a well placed foot.

     I dodged a downward slash and struck out at my opponent with a fist, splitting the skin of my knuckles as they clipped the hurlock's helmet and succeeded not at all in stunning him. I struck again, connecting with rotting flesh and exposed bone, hearing a satisfying crack as the hurlock stumbled back and pain fissured through my unprotected hand.

     A burst of flame shot past me and engulfed the hurlock as roots burst upward from the floor and speared through the genlocks in front of me; their lives ended in guttural screams. I scanned the area and reached out with my senses, finding no more enemies win the immediate area.

     "Search the dead." I ordered, reaching down and pulling a sword from the smoking scabbard attacked to the hurlock's charred body. "Armor, weapons, anything we can use. If Seranni spoke true, we will find our own equipment further in."

     _He took my swords,_ I fume as I wrested pieces of armor from the darkspawn's smoldering remains. _The swords Leliana had made for me, a symbol of her heart and her strength and the love we share. **No one** will take that from me...and those who dark will pay in **blood.**_

     "Maker's blood, the stench!" Nathaniel complained as he strapped on a leather chestplate soaked in the tainted blood of a genlock.

     "Endure it." I hissed, feeling none too gentle. "We have work to do."

     "Your hand is bleeding." Velanna took my hand between her own and examined the ripped skin of my knuckles.

     I pulled away, but smiled at her concern. "It will keep."

     Velanna nodded and we continued, deeper into the mine, deeper into the mystery. My thoughts stumbled over themselves, attempting to sort themselves out into some semblance of order.

     _I have to find out what is transpiring here,_ I clenched the hilt of my stolen sword. _Sentient darkspawn, this strange "architect" who attacked us, stole our weapons, and yet claims it did not wish to be my enemy. I feel weak...as though from blood loss, but I have no visible wounds. Also, there is the matter of Seranni. It is true that her blood has been tainted, but if I could bring her with us...perhaps I could understand a greater part of what in hell is happening, in addition to returning Velanna's family to her._

_And, by all that I hold sacred, I **will** have my swords returned to me!_


	64. Laughter, Memories, and Horrible Food

**Leliana**

     "Heavens, hells, and angels!" Kathyra exclaimed, staring at the roll that could have passed itself for a brick, judging by the sound it had made against the physician's teeth. "Oh, this is miserable." She dipped the lump of hardened dough into a thin soup that was the ship cook's definition of "stew."

     I laughed and proceeded to swallow the rock hard mouthful of bread that I had managed to gnaw away from the whole. "It could be worse." I informed Kathyra, shuddering with revulsion and humor as I remembered old times.

     The physician's resulting expression was so dismal that I erupted into a fit of giggles, nearly spilling the thin broth with its scant vegetables and mysterious meat into my lap. Kathyra shook her head, looking more morose than ever I had seen her. Her expression drew another smile for me, and it felt blissful to simply _be_ for a moment.

     "Pray tell." she spoke, dry and distraught as she eyed the roll.

     "You have never tasted the, and I do use this term dubiously, 'cooking', of Ferelden's king." I grinned and drained the insipid broth in a single swallow.

     Kathyra replied with a watery smile as she tasted the broth, puckering her lips and wincing as the overabundance of salt attacked her senses. "Regale me." she dropped he spoon into the bowl with a defeated sigh. "Perhaps in the midst of laughter I will forget the nightmare of this meal."

     "All right." I acquiesced, choking down a slimy piece of celery. "Let me see," I raced through my memories of the disastrous mealtimes at camp, smiling and grimacing before I settled on the proper story. "We were en route to the Circle of Magi," I relaxed against the ship's railing, "when a storm arose. The nearest shelter was a copse of trees, and try as we might to set up the tents, the wind would not allow us to do so. It ripped the stakes up from the ground and nearly shredded the tired canvas. The four of us, Salem, Morrigan, Alistair, and I were soaked through to the bone and Burrow, Salem's mabari, was intent on remaining as dry as possible, so the pervading odor was that of wet dog."

     Kathyra wrinkled her nose and managed to swallow another spoonful.

     "Our stores were dismally low." I continued. "We had half a loaf of bread and three strips of dried meat between us. Game had been scarce along the road, and though I am quite the archer, my only skills in tracking lie in following the movements of the human animal. Salem was the far better hunter, but should the two of us venture off together, it was a certain bet that Morrigan and Alistair would have torn out each other's throats in our absence."

     Kathyra's eyes widened. "And here the tales of the warden's band tout a unity so great that no petty argument could sunder it." she commented. "Could the mabari make no use of himself? I have heard they are an excellent breed for hunting."

     I nodded. "I am afraid that the tales of the unity of our merry band were quite overblown." I winked, conspiratorial. "Salem spent the lion's share of her free time putting out the fires that managed to ignite between all of us. As for Burrow, most of his efforts in the hunt were focused on feeding only himself. After all, would you take game from the mouth of a beast that had ripped out a darkspawn's throat that same day?"

     Kathyra blanched and shuddered, taking a labor intensive bite of her roll. "I most certainly would not." she replied. "Could that not spread the taint?"

    "It could." I told her. "While animals seem to be immune, we humans are not so fortunate. Salem was adamant that no one come in contact with tainted blood save herself and Alistair. It is a miracle that none of us were taken, though there were many close calls. Alas, I venture off topic." I grinned. "We were all ravenous, drenched, and irritable, when Alistair took it upon himself to attempt to alleviate the situation. He rushed out into the storm and began frantically picking dandelions, after begging Morrigan to light a fire. Salem set up the cooking pot and we all waited for Alistair. He returned and began feverishly ripping the flowers from the stems, as he relayed a tale of this _glorious_ stew of dandelion greens that he had eaten while a templar."

     I paused and managed to swallow a mushy orange blob that might once have been a carrot. Kathyra leaned forward, green eyes dancing with suppressed mirth.

     "He then proceeded to throw this mess of greens into the bubbling stewpot, along with the dried meat, claiming that it would give the concoction 'flavor and zest'. At this point, Morrigan directed Alistair's gaze to a mess of wild onions beneath the trees. His face lit like a child at Feast Day and he began digging in the dirt, washing onions in the rainwater before adding them, roots and all, into the stew pot. By this time, the stench alone was threatening to overwhelm us, and we waited for half a candlemark, shivering and trying to keep control of our rebelling stomachs. Alistair hovered over the stewpot like a fretting old grandmother, and the continuation of time only contributed to this comedy of culinary errors."

     "Oh, Maker, no." Kathyra placed her hand over a wide grin as I nodded.

     "Burrow, rustling at the trucks of the trees, managed to find an abandoned bird's next, and the four eggs still within. Before the mabari could destroy them, Alistair scooped them up, cracked them, and added them to the already nightmarish stew." I laughed aloud at the memory. "When, at last, dinner was declared served, this terrible greenish grey sludge that tasted like swamp mud and rotted cabbage lay in our bowls, undulating as though it was a sentient life form."

     "And?" Kathyra pressed.

     "Morrigan set her bowl aflame." I chuckled. "Declaring that she would rather go hungry than attempt to stomach such filth. Salem dutifully choked down her portion, in her kindness even _thanking_ Alistair for preparing dinner. I managed just enough to calm my stomach, then was forced quickly behind the trees...to suffer from the taste for a _second_ time as my dinner made a reappearance."

     "Ancient gods!" Kathyra exclaimed, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

     "That is not the worst of it." I clapped her on the shoulder. "The worst of it was that Alistair persisted in eating _two_ portions, and I do believe his exact words were, 'Granted, it would taste better if we had a bit more meat, perhaps some seasoning, but all in all I do believe it's a success'."

     Kathyra laughed, a hearty, joyous sound, so unlike Marjolaine's cruel, conniving cackle. "He _didn't!"_ she exclaimed.

     "He did." I replied. "And, since Morrigan had retired already, neither Salem nor I had the heart to tell him that it was an absolute, miserable travesty of a failure. I went to bed, nauseated and starving still."

     Kathyra finished her stew and bread with fervency. With a last, wincing swallow, she smiled at me. "I believe that tale might have put me off sustenance forever. However, I thank you for the pleasant distraction. I need to go below and assess Rylie's condition, for safety's sake."

     I nodded and returned to my meal, smiling to myself as I remembered the rest of that horrible night...

* * *

_I lie beneath the tree, shivering, attempting to stave away the memories that my screaming stomach brings to the forefront. Memories of the chill in Val Royeauxs dungeons, the gnawing hunger and devastating thirst that served as a better impetus to confess than the brands and lashes of my torturers. I close my eyes and drift into an uneasy sleep._

_"Leliana." a gentle hand rousts me from slumber. "Leliana, wake up."_

_Exhausted, I open my eyes and find Salem's face before mine, her rain-soaked hair plastered to her face, a wild look in those silver blue eyes that sends a spike of desire through my body, awakening me fully. The scent of roasting meat causes my mouth to water and I look to the fire, seeing the body of a rabbit suspended over the flames._

_"Is it morning already?" I ask, dreading the answer. My joints seem frozen and I cannot find the will to move._

_"No." Salem answers, extending a hand to help me to my feet. We stagger over to the fire and I crumple in a heap, rubbing my arms to alleviate the chill. "I took the liberty of borrowing your bow and managed to bring down a rabbit. Do forgive me."_

_I rub the grit from my eyes. "I thought...I thought Alistair had first watch." I mumble, still not comprehending what is happening._

_"I took it for him." Salem explains, removing the hare from the spit and delicately tearing strips of meat from the bone. "He was not feeling well." she quirks a single brow upward and I chuckle, admiring her selflessness and sense of humor. "I thought you might like something to eat." she offers me a plate of the tender, roasted rabbit._

_I tear into the meat with relish; even though the gamey taste does not quite agree with my palate, it is infinitely better than what Alistair attempted to poison us with earlier. Salem sits beside me in quiet companionship, her eyes fixed on the flames and distant memories that I find myself, more and more, longing to discover._

_"Morrigan?" I ask, remembering that the witch had not eaten._

_Salem shrugs her shoulders. "She shift and darted off into the storm about a candlemark ago." she replies. "I'm quite certain she is sating her hunger in her own way."_

_**And you took pity on me,** a blush creeps into my cheeks despite the cold, **and Alistair. Taking his watch and exerting yourself in procuring game for me...all without complaint or request. Who are you, Salem Cousland?**_

_I finish the hearty meal and lay before the fire, still shivering, dreading the return to sleep and the nightmares certain to follow. The wind howls through the trees, lightning flashes in the sky, and thunder rumbles. A warmth settles over me and I look up in confusion to see Salem removing her cloak and laying it across my body._

_"No." I protest, already half lost in slumber. "You will..." I yawn, "...catch a chill."_

_"I am quite all right." Salem kneels beside me, tucking the cloak around me with great care. "Do not worry over me. Rest well, Leliana, and sweetly dream."_

_The tender words, unwarranted and unknown for so long, bring tears to my eyes and I watch as the warden moves away from the fire, leaning against a tree, standing vigil for all of us._

_**So...beautiful...** sleep takes me, and for the first time in months...the nightmares do not come. _

* * *

     I sighed and rose from my seat, a sense of longing and foreboding whispering into my heart. The ring against my finger burned and an uneasiness settled in my spirit. I stared down at the rampant mabari engraved into the metal, wishing that it could speak to me of the one who held my heart; that it could let me know of Salem's life and her mind and her heart. Instead, all I possessed were my instincts.

     _Something is wrong,_ I bit my lip, and whispered a prayer. _Somehow I fear that, wherever she may be, Salem is **far** from safe. _


	65. Failure to Lead

**Salem**

     "Here." Velanna shoved a sheaf of parchment into my hands. "These look as though they might be useful."

     I nodded and tucked the parchment into a discarded satchel I had found in the corner of the room. I glanced around what looked to be a research area, the furnishings and decor that appeared eerily human, even though I knew that nothing possessing that description resided here. The area seemed almost...habitable, not like the foul-smelling dung-heaps where darkspawn nested.

     _Perhaps what we have found in this room will be enough to shed light on the mystery here that is growing ever deeper by the moment. Who were those creatures, those tainted beings we discovered in the mines, outfitted with our armor and weapons? And the darkspawn that surrounded them...it seemed as though the tainted were controlling the darkspawn, guiding them as an archdemon might...I feel as though I have stumbled into some sort of demented laboratory._

     "Ugh." Anders tugged at his robes and attempted to scrub the blood and grime from them. "Blighted, tiny dragons. Who knew they could be so fierce."

     "I did." Oghren teased, looking to me with a question in his eyes. 

     I shook my head and clutched my recently returned swords, allowing peace to infuse me. Oghren knew, as I did, that the presence of dragonlings often heralded the presence of their larger, fiercer parents. I did not know if this rag-tag group with its dysfunctional members could face something as powerful as a full grown dragon. A sylvan had nearly destroyed them, and, compared against a dragon, a sylvan was nothing.

     "Are we finished here?" Nathaniel asked, rubbing his arms in discomfort. "I am quite ready to see the sky once more."

     Anders shook his head in an exaggerated movement, agreeing with the rogue. Velanna's grey eyes pleaded with me, her fingers clutching at the sleeve of my shirt. I looked to her and I saw grief and pain and sorrow and longing. All emotions that I knew in my own heart, with an intimacy that no living soul should bear.

     "We are not finished, no. We must keep our word and search for Seranni." I told them, hearing Velanna release the breath she had been holding.

     "We are Grey Wardens." Anders argued, coming to stand in front of me. "I _thought_ our mission was to slay darkspawn. We have cleared this mine at the risk of our lives; would you not consider this mission complete? Our work done?"

     "Of course not." Nathaniel's snide tones intervened. "Or have you not noticed, ser mage, that our warden commander is set on saving every stray kitten that manages to find itself treed? It would appear she is too _noble_ to understand the meaning of _collateral damage_!"

     Velanna's hands clenched in anger and glowed with magic. "Still your tongue, shem, or I will rend you limb from limb!" she shouted and I threw up my hands in desperation as the situation disintegrated once more.

     Oghren merely chuckled and leaned on the handle of his axe.

     _"Enough."_ my voice whipped across their faces, the heat of my tone startling them into silence. "Anders, I would have hoped your bruises would remind you _why_ you do not question my orders or my methods. Nathaniel, I have an understanding of _collateral damage_ that would drown you in nightmares so dark you would plead for death upon awakening. I have attempted mercy, I have attempted understanding, but try my patience _one step_ further and I will use the _full extent_ of my considerable power to make both of your lives a torment that outstrips comprehension! Am. I. Clear?"

     Angry mutters greeted my ears and Oghren gripped the shaft of his axe, ready to aid me once again if this disagreement turned violent. However, nothing happened; both the rogue and the mage stood cowed, for the moment.

     "Power?" Velanna's tones were tremulous. "You are...you are something more than a Grey Warden?"

     _Why do I feel as though the truth will not aid me?_ I wondered, wishing that I had been able to hold my tongue. However, I had been asked, and I would return the truth.

     "I am the arlessa of Amaranthine." I confessed, knowing that news did not travel as quickly to the Dalish; that Velanna possibly had no knowledge of my actual rank and station, Hero of Ferelden or no. "And I am the voice of the king. My authority is second only to King Alistair."

     "Get out." the elf hissed. "Get your people to the surface. I will find Seranni on my own, _without_ your aid."

     _What brought this new thread of vehemence?_

     "Velanna..."

     "No." her voice was ferocity personified. "It was a grievous enough compromise to accept help from a shem, but I _refuse_ to be used by you. Those in power are _always_ overtaken by it until they become no better than the darkspawn in the destruction and havoc that they wreak. I want _nothing_ to do with you and your endgame. Get out."

     "Velanna, we are hardly in a position to separate." I argued, struggling to remain calm, even though her words had cut me to the core.

     _I have **never** desired power! From my own noble title to this...this rank I have had unceremoniously **shoved** onto my shoulders! I want **nothing** to do with any of this and yet...and yet I threatened those who travel under my command with the power that I am able to wield. Is it true...is it possible...Maker, I am losing my **mind!**_

     "Fine." she growled, backing away. "But once we reach the surface, and Seranni is safe, you would be well-advised to scurry back to the home of the death in which you reside."

     "As you say." I kept my shoulders squared, my back straight, even though I desired nothing more than to slump in defeat, turn over command, and wither away beneath the earth.

     _I begin to believe that I no longer want to be alive._

     We continued through the labyrinthine halls and I focused my senses into existence, forcing myself to remain vigilant, at least for Oghren's sake. The rest of them could burn in the fires of the abyss, and I would sleep with an untroubled conscience...and that alone worried me.

     _Morrigan...Wynne...Zevran...Sten...how many times did we argue? How many disagreements nearly threatened to splinter us, and yet we saw the mission through. We ended the Blight and parted, inasmuch as we could, as friends. Perhaps I have been wrong. Perhaps those alongside me are not at fault. Perhaps it is me...I have lost something, something other than Leliana's presence. It would seem a part of me...the spirit that cared, that fought, that strove for unity above all...has vanished._

     I opened the door that stood before us, instantly on guard as the narrow passageway widened into a high-ceilinged, stone-floored room. It looked very akin to the entrance hall of Orzammar, as though we had entered on the ruins of a long lost dwarven thaig.

     "Stay on your guard." I warned, looking to my left and seeing the mysterious creature who had apologized to me.

     At its right hand was a dwarf, her skin pale and mottled with tell-tale signs of the taint. She wore the armor of the Legion of the Dead, establishing the rumors I had heard of a squad of them in Amaranthine. At its left was Seranni, her features a careful mixture of calm and concern as she set her colorless eyes on her sister.

     Another sound drew my eyes towards it, and I looked up, towards two platforms where two dragons writhed as though chained, even though nothing held them.

     "Maker's blood-soaked breath." Anders gasped.

     The creature lifted its strange, clawed hands and the dragons took wing. I glanced back at my companions, seeing the fear stamped on their faces as they realized what we were about to face.

     "We will be fine." I assured them, drawing my blades and pressing forward, dropping the satchel that contained the creature's, this "architect's" research documents.

     "How can you say that!?" Nathaniel shouted.

     Oghren hefted his axe and followed my charge into the fray. "It ain't a High Dragon!" he called back. "An' she ain't blind!"

     "Oghren!" I directed him towards one of the beasts, determined to keep them away from those inexperienced in fighting dragons.

     The dwarf took the cue and broke away from me, bringing his axe crashing down into the foreleg of a dragon, causing it to trumpet its anger and pain. I skidded to a halt as the second dragon landed before me, snapping out with its jaws. I ducked and rolled beneath the beast, spearing its soft underbelly, dodging the acidic blood as it slipped down my swords, unable to eat through the magicked blades.

     The powerful wings beat down, wrenching my blade from the dragon's body as it took flight, sprinkling the floor with its blood. I got to my feet and rushed after the dragon, pleased as I saw Oghren and Anders locked in battle with the other, the mage's shield and lightening keeping the dragon at bay while Oghren hacked at its legs and neck; any body part that his blade could reach.

     "Salem!" Nathaniel shouted as he let an arrow fly.

     The dragon hovered in the air, howling, beating its wings as Velanna drew spikes of ice from the moisture in the air and flung them towards it. I recognized the sound of the roar and tackled the elf to the ground, despite her protests, as flames blossomed around us. She would forgive me.

     Shock filled Velanna's eyes as the fire rolled off of us, leaving scorch marks on the stone floor. The blackened stone surrounded us, and the elf stared from it to me to the dragon, bewilderment etched in her grey eyes.

     I rolled away from her as the dragon descended, its claws striking out, shredding through my armor, catching in the metal and flinging me against the wall. My skull hit the stone with a sickening sound and I collapsed to the floor as the room flashed white and all sound dimmed. I struggled to my feet as Velanna backpedaled, staggering towards the dragon with uneven steps as blood sheeted down my face and into my eyes.

     The beast turned its hungry, glittering, serpentine eyes to mine and a wash of flame roared over me. I stumbled through it, reaching out and thrusting my blade into its open mouth, into its brain. The dragon gurgled and the flames died as it sank to the ground, its blood eating through the stone.

     Oghren's shout of victory registered dimly and I swerved, looking upwards at the creature, the Architect, through blurred vision. He raised his hands in a gesture of defeat and I took a step forward as the he, the dwarf, and Seranni turned and departed into the black depths of another tunnel.

     "Wait!" I screamed, gasping as my right leg shuddered, bucked, and gave out beneath me.

     "Seranni!" Velanna shrieked, running for the steps as the architect's hands glowed with fierce magic. The ground trembled as rocks fell from the ceiling, barring the entry to the tunnel they departed through. "No!" the elven mage fell to her knees, distraught with grief. "No!" she lifted shards of stone and flung them at the barrier. "Return my sister to me, you _fiend!_ Give her back! _Give her **back**!"_

     "Velanna." I whispered, but the grieving woman did not seem capable of hearing me. "Velanna, please, there is...there is...nothing more we can do."

     She rose, shaking, and stalked over to me, lifting her hand and striking me across the face. "You _promised!"_ she cried, following her first slap with another, sending my vision spinning and shards of pain cutting a jagged swath through my skull. " _You promised me, you **damnable shem**!" _ 

     "Velanna." Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her, restraining her. "Velanna, calm down. Please."

     The elf struggled and thrashed in his hold, but with his greater height and strength, she was easily foiled.

     "I'm sorry." I felt tears of my own streak down my face as I tried to rise and found myself unable. "I am...so very sorry. Never meant...never meant to fail..." my voice collapsed to a whisper, "Leliana..."

     "Maker's breath." Anders' gasp echoed behind me and Oghren knelt in front of me, though I could not tell which dwarf to lock eyes with.

     "Salem," the dwarf's gruff voice seemed too kind, too worried. "Salem, it's bad."

     Nathaniel looked at me. "Is that bone!?" he asked, distracting me.

     Oghren returned my attention to him with a callused hand on my chin. "I can see yer skull. Ya gotta let the pretty boy do his magicky thing."

     _No. I...I can't...Velanna...she's in pain. I...I hope those...who are in pain._

     "No." I mumbled, swaying forward.

     Oghren caught me and his eyes looked behind me. "Do what ya gotta." he instructed Anders, because I could not summon the energy to speak. I could barely breathe.

     I felt a hand resting on my head and I screamed as healing magic scoured through my body, throwing me into a tangle of nightmares and darkness and...

_...so     ...much     ...pain._


	66. Nightmares and Feared Realities

**Leliana**

_The rich, luscious grasses are level with my knees, whipped about by a fragrant wind, carrying me towards a peaceful copse of trees. The highest of them stands out against the rich blue of the sky and my heart begins to beat faster as I approach. Feeling an urgency that I do not understand, I walk faster, ignoring the faint dirge that flies to me on the wind from the city behind me. All that matters to me is what is ahead. I crave it. I fear it. I do not know what it is that draws me._

_At last, I reach the grow, recognizing now where I stand. I stand on the ground of Highever, in a place I have seen but once. It is Salem and Bryce's place of retreat, a sanctuary of peace and meditation, the resting place of sweet and tragic memories. It is the place where I witnessed my lover's spirit open and her grief and relief pour through in the simplest of words._

_Three headstones stand out, silhouetted against the setting sun._

_**Three?** The wrongness of this stands out and I move forward before I lose the light of the now setting sun. The names engraved emerge in stark relief and I read them, heart catching in my throat as my mind processes what I see before it. _

_**BRYCE**_

_**ELEANOR** _

_**SALEM** _

_"What?" the sound of my own voice terrifies me. It is strained and hoarse, all but devoid of hope. "No. No no no no no no. This is not happening. This **can't** be happening!"_

_I sink to my knees in the verdant grass, remembering Salem's hand gripping mine as I offered her comfort here. Here, on this very ground, we knew that we loved one another, that we were blessed and that our future with one another was secure. I remember her radiant eyes, brilliant smile, tender hands; her words against my ears in fervent worship... **her love. Her all consuming** **love**._

_I reach out with trembling fingers and touch her name, the letters engraved in cold granite...cold as she had never been._

_**This is wrong!**_

_I rise to my feet and seek out the old, tall oak that Salem told me of in the Deep Roads. I grasp the lowest branch, feeling the rough bark scrape against my skin as I pull myself into the tree. Unthinking, unfeeling, vision blurred by tears, I keep climbing, determined to reach the highest branch, certain that once I am there, the truth will face me. Will free me. That I will understand._

_The boughs begin to thin and my footing becomes unsteady as the stronger winds blow. I wipe sweat from my brow and look up, gasping as I see Salem standing on the highest branch. She has one foot planted on it, the other lifted against the trunk that she leans against. Her arms are crossed and the wind whips through her hair, the glow of the setting sun illuminating the silver strands that never should have been there._

_She looks down at me and my eyes well with fresh tears as I see the clarity of her eyes. There are no scars there, and the one across her cheek has also vanished. She slides down the trunk and sits on the branch, offering me her hand. I take it, biting my lip as I see that the flesh there is smooth and unmarred. I know her hands so well. They are both pitted and covered with scars. They are both mutilated by war...but so gentle when they touch me. So heavenly when inside of me..._

_"I wondered when you would come." she speaks, and there are notes of laughter behind her voice. "I have been waiting for you."_

_I sit beside her and she wraps an arm about my waist, but I can do nothing to eradicate the chill that settles over me. "How..." my voice shakes, "...how long, Salem? How long have you been waiting?"_

_"Hush, dear heart." her thumbs whisper my tears away, succeeding only in making me weep all the more, hating myself for missing the sensation of her scars against my skin. "Do not cry." she soothes. "And it does not matter. Time holds no meaning for me. Not any longer."_

_**It does for me!** I want to scream. **I have to know! Salem...who took you from me!? Who!?**_

_"I...I do not understand." I bury my face in my hands, bewildered and in pain._

_In every vision, I have witnessed her death. In every dream, she is no longer living. This is becoming a torture and a torment that I do not think I can endure for much longer. There is a cruelty in the world of the Fade that has been too present in our waking lives. A cruelty that would tear our future away before we know the chance to possess it._

_**When,** I wonder, **when will the dream cross into reality...or has it already? Oh, Maker...I felt so afraid...I knew something was amiss. Is this a gift? A gentle breaking of the news? Please, please, let it be nothing but a dream. PLEASE!**_

_"It is nothing that warrants understanding, Leliana." her voice comforts me as her hands no longer can. Not without their scars; not without the reminder that she is real and human and **alive.** "Time passes and fate befalls us all. You above all know that my profession was far from safe."_

_"What took you from me?" I ask, fearing the answer. "A darkspawn blade? An assassin's contract? An illness?" the heartbreaking scenarios play out in my mind on a stage of indescribable grief._

_Salem smiles and shakes her head. "No, dear heart. Nothing such as that."_

_"Then what!?" I fling my hands into the air, desperate for an answer even though I dread her reply._

_"You do not desire the answer." she says, reading my thoughts as she alone has ever been able to do. "Please, Leliana, trust me on that."_

_"Salem, my love...I beg you. I cannot bear the not knowing." I plead with her, watching the light depart from her eyes and knowing that, as a Cousland, she will never deny me the truth._

_"You." she whispers._

_"What!?" I gasp, unable to grasp the simplicity of the word, even as it drives a dagger into my gut._

_"I could not live without you, Leliana." she explains. "I lost...I lost so much of myself in your absence. Every battle became a struggle, not of blade against blade, but of heart against mind. I had...I had nothing left to protect, nothing to live for and...and I surrendered. You killed me, dear heart."_

_"No!" I cry, though I know that Salem would never, **never** lie to me. "Salem, please, love, tell me....tell me it isn't **true!** " _

_"I cannot." she pulls me tight to her, resting my head on her shoulder. "Do not blame yourself, dear heart. There is no fault for you in this. It was I who gave in to my weakness. I was not strong enough and for that, you cannot be blamed."_

_"This cannot be real." I beg the Maker, the ancient gods, any who will listen. "You are the strongest woman I know."_

_"Strength fades." she whispers. "And the memory of love wears thin amidst bloodshed and strife. A thousand times I told you that the Blight would never have ended, had you not loved me. At least...now...you can realize the truth of those claims."_

_Darkness claims the sky as the sun at last sinks to its rest and a cry of unadulterated anguish rips from my throat. Salem slips down to a lower branch and I reach out for her, needing her touch, even that of her unnatural, smooth hands._

_"Please, don't go." I beg. "Please, Salem. I...I need you."_

_"I am always with you." she promises. "I have...so many regrets. But I do love you, Leliana. Remember that, and hold no anger against yourself."_

_"Salem." her hand slips through mine as the first glow of the moon strikes her skin. "Salem?" her figure begins to fade into the darkness, a peaceful smile imprinted on her features as, at last, she knows what it is to rest. To be at peace._

* * *

     "Salem!" I screamed, sitting bolt upright, my breath coming in gasps, the chill of tears on my face.

     The door flew open and a figure rushed to my side, kind hands taking mine, imparting a heat that I could not feel. "Leliana?" the physician's voice, warm with concern. "Leliana, are you all right? Maker, you're freezing. Here."

     Kathyra's hands pulled the rough blanket from the bunk and wrapped it around my shoulders, tucking it about my body in attempt to save the warmth I did not have.

     "Leliana, say something." she knelt in front of me, forcing my tear-blurred vision to her face. "Ancient gods," her hand rested on my forehead, "your skin is bloodless."

     "It...it was..." my breath rushed out, hitching with small, choking sobs, "...a dream."

     Sympathy washed into her green eyes and she sat beside me, her hand soothing up and down my back. "It's all right." she comforted me. "You aren't alone. I am here with you."

     "I heard screaming." a smooth, shy voice intruded from the doorway. "Lieutenant, is...is Seeker Leliana well? Is there anything I can do?"

     Kathyra turned. "A nightmare, Kestrel." she explained as I continued the attempt to slow my frantic breathing.

     The bunk dipped beneath more weight and Kestrel joined the physician in an attempt to comfort me. I cried all the harder, tears flowing down my face in a constant stream of grief and fear. The ring on my hand burned and my heart ached with the pain of not knowing, and not being able to discover.

     "You are among friends." Kestrel whispered and I rested my head on the young Templar's shoulder, needing something warm and solid to anchor me in reality.

     _Salem!_ I cried out to her in my thoughts. _Salem, please, please, **please,** my **love!** Maker, give me something. In your mercy, let me know...let me know she is alive. I beg you, **I beg you!**_

"Kestrel," Kathyra spoke, low, "can you go to my cabin and fetch my bag? There is something there that might help her."

     "No." I did not want to be drugged back into slumber, only to awaken with these same thoughts and uncertainties gnawing at me.

     Kestrel rose from my side and vanished on light feet as Kathyra's fingers moved to the back of my neck, rubbing in firm, soft circles, loosening the muscles that screamed with tension. "I am not going to force you into slumber." she alleviated my concern. "I have never been a proponent of sleeping drafts. They give you no true rest."

     Kestrel returned and set the bag on my bunk. Kathyra rifled through it and withdrew a small vial. She poured a small amount of the liquid onto the tips of her fingers and placed her fingers on my temples, moving in the same smooth circles she had applied to my neck. The soothing scent of lavender calmed me further and my breathing slowed at last. For a moment, we sat in silence as Kathyra finished her ministrations. She dried her hands and tucked my hair behind my ear.

     "Are you all right to be alone?" she asked. "I can stay with you, if you prefer."

     "I am..." I sniffed, hating that my weakness had been splayed naked for them to see. "...I am all right. Thank you, Kathyra."

     "Make no mention of it." she patted my knee, gathered her belongings, and left.

     Kestrel watched her depart, reached over, and stroked her fingers across my forehead. I felt the light crackle of magic and looked to her in question, wondering what she had done to me.

     "I've set up a temporary barrier in your mind." she bit her lip, as though afraid she might have overstepped. "If you sleep again tonight, you will not enter the Fade...forgive me if I have...I just thought..."

      I gripped her hand and squeezed it, warm. "Thank you." I breathed, grateful beyond what words could convey. "Thank you, Kestrel."

     She smiled and backed out of the room, closing the door with a silence befitting of the thief she once was. I heaved a sigh and rested my hands on my knees, tears springing yet again to my eyes.

     _I am not alone,_ I realized. _Those of great kindness and good hearts have been brought to my side...those willing to stand beside me in trial and comfort me in sorrow. Salem has...Salem has none of that. Dear Maker, I have left her all alone in this world. I...I never saw...I never saw her true vulnerability, I never thought...I am a **fool!** There are limits to all our strength but Salem...Salem's strength outstrips anything I have yet witnessed and I thought...I thought...oh Maker, what have I done!? _

     I curled into myself and collapsed onto my bunk, weeping as I became more and more convinced that my dream had not been a simple nightmare, but a sign...and perhaps a portent of things to come.


	67. Fractures and Fate

**Salem**

     A stilted, rocking motion jolted me, ungentle, into awareness. My body felt as though it had been battered by an ogre. Even my eyelids felt bruised as I eased them open. A high pitched ringing sang through my left ear, unhindered by the thunderous pounding inside my skull. The muscles of my right leg spasmed, shooting burning needles up into my spine and down through my toes. Something rough and uncomfortable tugged at my wrists and the ground undulated beneath me in a sickening roll. I closed my eyes and swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat. A sound of a horse coming alongside the one I appeared to be tied to shattered against my ears, sending starbursts of agony flashing behind my eyes.

     "Back off, pretty boy." I heard Oghren's gruff warning.

     "She should have woken by now." the perpetual whining edge in the mage's voice had vanished, covered by a healer's concern. "One more simple spell will increase the speed and efficacy of her healing."

     "It'll wait." Oghren stayed Anders without revealing my weakness and I sagged against the body of my horse in relief. "We're almost back to the Keep. Take a gander at the elf, if yer itchin' to use your magic."

     _Velanna,_ the very act of thinking intensified the ferocity of the ache between my temples, _is she all right? I did not...I did not see any wounds. Have I failed her yet...yet further?_

     "Velanna's just fainted." Anders sounded...disappointed? "I do not understand your reticence, ser dwarf. You saw the commander's injuries. Her skin was peeled back to the bone and her skull was cracked. She requires a swift healing or there might be permanent damage to her mind."

     _No more than is already present,_ a dark chuckle whispered through my thoughts.

     "I would trust the dwarf, Anders." Nathaniel intruded, a contemplative note in his tone. "He knows the commander well."

     "Better than I know injuries?" Anders questioned, his pride unable to withstand the affront. "Your ignorance astounds me."

     I felt the warmth of his hand near my face, setting my skin on fire, even though he made no contact. I forced my eyes and looked at him, fighting through the vertigo, nausea, and splitting agony.

     "No...magic." my voice slurred. "Please...I'll...die."

     Fear struck the mage's green eyes, but he mercifully pulled his hand away as the overwhelming sensation swarmed over me and backspiraled me into oblivion.

* * *

     "Here." a warm tone broke through the inky haze of my slim grasp on consciousness. "Gently, my boy. Tell me what happened."

     I tensed as I felt the mattress give beneath my weight, and a down pillow cushion my aching head. I did not wish to be awake, but I knew how dangerous it would be to sleep. I forced myself to focus on the voices I could hear above me, both masculine and etched with worry.

     "Yes, seneschal." Nathaniel replied and confusion eked its way into my battered mind.

     _Nathaniel...carried me in? His hold...strong...gentle...but he...he despises me._

     "We journeyed to the Wending Wood, based on Mistress Woolsey's reports.  There were several signs of the attacked merchants...no bodies, I'm afraid. The attacks were perpetrated by the elven mage we brought in...her camp had been beset by darkspawn. But the darkspawn left Ferelden weapons there in order to offset blame, and..."

     "She began attacking our people in retribution." Varel finished. "What then?"

     "We...well...Salem subdued her. To expedite the tale, the elf's sister had been captured by darkspawn, and the commander, in a gesture of goodwill, suggested we seek out the darkspawn in hopes to rescue the missing elf. We were attacked and imprisoned, stripped of our weapons and armor, only to be freed by the elf's missing sister. We had to fight our way out of the old silverite mines, you know of them?"

     "I do."

     "The creature who captured us," Nathaniel continued, "had some sort of control over...over dragons. He set them against us and the commander was injured in the fighting. One of the beasts flung her against the wall and she struck her head...though she still managed to bring one of them down before she collapsed."

     A weathered hand came to rest on my cheek and I flinched at the contact, though comfort filled me at the concern evident even in Varel's touch.

    "Has she been seen to by a healer?" the seneschal asked. "What are the extent of her injuries? Is further attention required? Are the rest of you all right?"

     "The mage cast a spell or two." Nathaniel's voice sounded strained. "He said something...something about a skull fracture."

     "Maker's blood." Varel breathed.

     "The rest of us are well enough. Scrapes, bruises, a few burns. The elf fainted from over-exertion and exhaustion; Anders is keeping her unconscious for the moment. It is better that way, for Salem seems to be the only one among us who can hammer a word between her ears. Trust me, seneschal, you do not wish to be on the receiving end of that anger."

     Varel's fingers moved through my blood-soaked hair in a fatherly gesture, sending a pang of longing so deep into my chest that I thought I might die from it.

     "Does Salem require further attention?" Varel repeated the one question Nathaniel had not answered.

     "The mage seems to be of that opinion." he replied. "But I would suggest a physician. The dwarf was loathe to let Anders use his spells, and her reactions to magic were far from the norm. I will leave her care in your capable hands, Seneschal Varel."

     "Of course, Warden Howe." Varel agreed. "If it is not an imposition, please send for Mistress Woolsey. If I recall correctly, she once served as physician to the wardens, before losing her taste for the ugliness of battle."

     "I will send for her." Nathaniel replied and I heard the door close behind him with a soft sound.

     The bed settled beneath further weight as Varel sat beside me, his fingers threading through mine. "I have never witnessed a more heroic fool." he confided, still believing me to be unconscious. "I wonder, arlessa...how weak a man you will think me if I plead with you not to die? I have witnessed your exhaustion, and I am old enough to recognize the unspeakable sorrow that you carry in your eyes. I know all too well how much you must long for surrender, but...but I beg you to suffer this life longer. To stay with us. Amaranthine's people have need of you. It has been so long...so long since we have dared to hope for a better life."

     His words touched me, a calming breeze in the hurricane of my tormented mind. _I...I made a promise. To Leliana. To Alistair. To Amaranthine. There are still so many battles to fight, and if the price of hope for those such as Varel is my suffering...so be it. I will pay the price. I will bear the cost. It is...it is worth it._

     I exerted all of my strength and squeezed his hand. "I...will stay." I rasped.

     Varel moved from the bed and knelt beside me, pressing his lips to the ring that symbolized my reason for existing. "Thank you." tears shone in his kind blue eyes. "Thank you, Salem."

     "Please," I licked my chapped lips, but it helped nothing, "please dim the lights."

     "Of course."

     Varel rose and snuffed several of the candles, leaving a single one burning near the bedside and leaving be the fire in the hearth. The scent of smoke caught in my nose and I groaned as the nausea resurged with a vengeance. My stomach roiled and I threw my arm across it, wishing that I had the strength to curl into myself and shut out the world. To indulge in my own misery, if only for a few hours.

     The door opened and the creaking of the hinges assaulted my awareness. Agatha Woolsey burst into the room, ignoring Varel and striding towards me. She took one quick look at me and a touch of relief seemed to enter her eyes.

     "You are conscious." she nodded as if to affirm the truth of her words. "Good. Can you speak?"

     "Yes." I did not dare nod.

     "Excellent. The mage bandaged the wound on your head. I apologize in advance for the discomfort."

     Her hands moved outside of my range of vision and I clutched at the sheets as she removed the bandage from the wound, pulling at the torn skin. I bit my lip and let the tears fall, unwilling to cry out. Her fingers probed the injury for a moment and I forced myself to breath, counting the moments of inhale and exhale, attempting to live through the next moments.

     "Well, the mage Anders knows a healer's work." she spoke, relief coloring her tone. "The bone has been mended and she is coherent enough that I highly doubt any damage has been done to her mind. Headache?" she asked. "Nausea? Sensitivity to light and sound?"

     "Yes, thrice over." I replied as my eyelids fluttered.

     "You most definitely have a concussion." her pursed lips softened into a smile. "That is an injury I am certain you are intimately acquainted with."

     "Yes." it seemed to be the sole reply I was able to give.

     "Very well then." she patted my shoulder. "Sleep will be your greatest healer, if you are intent on denying the mage's further services."

     "I am." I whispered, hating the need to explain, loathing that none were near me who knew me well enough to understand. "I...I do not react well...to healer's magic. Never...never have."

     "That _is_ curious." she shook her head. "And a matter to discuss another time. Sleep, commander. I will stitch the wound to prevent further bleeding. Varel, she will need someone to stay with her throughout the night and keep watch over her."

     "Consider my services offered." the seneschal replied, drawing the shades across the window, even though the moon had risen.

     "Wake her every two candlemarks. Ask easily answered questions. If she can give the answers and nothing else seems amiss, let her sleep as long as she may." Mistress Woolsey ordered.

     "Of course." Varel assented. "While you continue your ministrations, I must send messenger birds to the vassal lords of Amaranthine. I had summoned them in hopes of concluding the formalities of Arlessa Cousland's takeover of Amaranthine, but..."

     "No." I lifted a single finger, interrupting him. "I will...be fine. Let...tomorrow stand."

     "Do not be a fool child." Agatha Woolsey instructed. "You must rest."

     "Time...does not slow...for the injured." I whispered, knowing the truth of it all too well.

     Varel sighed. "We will discuss it in the morning, Mistress Woolsey."

     I looked up, awaiting the treasurer's reply. She frowned at me, an expression so characteristic of her that I could not resist a smile.

     "If I put half of the madness that transpires here in my report to the First Warden, he would have me forcibly retired for reasons of mental deficit." she quipped. "Sleep, you stubborn girl."

     "As you say." I murmured, letting my struggling, faltering eyelids close and surrendering to simple slumber...and the awakening certain to follow.


	68. Death on the Horizon

**Leliana**

     I stood on the bow of the ship, looking out into the distance, feeling a chill in the wind. After my nightmare, I had fallen into a restless slumber, bringing me no peace even though the nightmares had not returned. Kestrel's gift to me had been a great kindness, and unexpected. Yes, she had given me her secret, but I was a collector of such things. There were many who, after revealing what they kept hidden for so long, turned their back on the person they granted that measure of trust in a form of bizarre self-protection. 

     _I wonder,_ I thought as I sought out the sense of foreboding that had hung over me all day, _if there was a mage who could provide such a serv_ _ice for Sale. Her sleep is...was?...so often tortured and tormented. Maker,_ I pinched the bridge of my nose and restrained the tears that gnawed at my eyes, _why have you remained silent? It is a small favor that I have asked of you_. _Give me a sign...give me the knowledge that Salem lives. Please...please?_

     "I see you have uncharacteristically and, might I had, needlessly, donned your armor." A haughty accent rang behind me and I quickly dashed away what moisture had gathered in my eyes, turning to face Cassandra.

     A wind had arisen during the night, swift and strong, speeding us towards our destination. It seemed too sudden and too needed to be anything other than an ill-omen. Cassandra, however, had proclaimed the wind to be a sign of the Maker's blessings on our mission, and that we would be ashore on the island before the sun set this day.

    "Are you anticipating trouble?" the Right Hand glared down her aquiline nose at me. "Have you _foreseen_ our demise?"

     Anger spiked through my heart, amid the swirl of fear and apprehension and confusion. "Have things become so dull on the sea that you seek me out to goad me into an argument?" I asked, turning my back to her before I said something that I would later regret.

     "It was an innocent query, Initiate." I could hear the smirk in her tone.

     "It was an incendiary remark, Cassandra, and perhaps it would behoove your station and profession to refrain from dishonesty in the future." I growled, gripping the railing of the ship until my knuckles went white.

      "Your bardic tricks will not provoke me, Initiate Cousland." she quipped, attempting to sound in control even though I could hear the anger locked behind her teeth. "I merely came to dispense an order. You and three others will go ashore first, scout the island, and report back.

     _She **is** attempting to kill me! And she __does not even possess the decency to own what she is planning! I am tired of this game, just as I tired of_

     "You would send an unseasoned initiate first into the fray?" I kept my tone light.

     "Consider it a test of dedication and honesty." Cassandra sneered. "And talent, of course. You seem to have acquired a reputation that borders on fearsome. I should like to see if you will hold true to your legend in the absence of your warden."

     My pride refused to let me push aside her words, ignore them, and turn the other cheek. "All of my skills were _well_ honed before my path ever crossed with Salem. I have outmatched every archer I have come across, decimated berserkers with my daggers, and defeated the Divine's vaunted Right Hand in single combat."

     Cassandra's dusky skin flushed crimson with anger and her jaw clenched with wrath. "Very well then." she snapped. "I see you have no objections to your assignment. Are there any templars in particular that you would have assigned to your scouting party?"

     "Privates Kestrel Ariyah and Rylie Camerloch, and Sergeant Alan." I gave my reply with immediacy.

     Cassandra nodded and turned on her heel, leaving me alone once again...this time with new thoughts and torments. I felt an ominous music in the wind, a portent of dark fates to come. I did not want to face them, not with the innocent, un-blooded templars aboard this vessel.

     _Every word I spoke to her was the truth. But...but the last time I fought without Salem...three innocent people were destroyed. I have ever battled either from a distance or with an intimacy that borders on the suicidal. I am not a leader of warriors, nor a consummate protector. I am not Salem...I do not have her heart. My eyes are never on my opponent, a single-minded force of destruction. I cannot protect myself and keep watch over others. It is why...it is why Salem was so often wounded; taking every blow, blocking every attack._

 _Such strength..._ a sob ripped out of my throat, unexpected.  _...such strength could not depart this world without my knowing...could it? How am I to lead the Maker's revolution if I lack the eyes to see all of those whose lives are at risk? How was I chosen, when it is Salem who is the leader...when it was her love of me that awakened our silent god?_

     I worried at the scar on my lower lip with my teeth, turning my eyes to the ocean. No longer did the deep blue expanse and the rolling waves soothe my spirit. Instead, my emotions churned and fought beneath the veneer of calm. The sun dipped lower in the sky, descending from its high-noon perch, hastening our arrival to an unknown island, our meeting with an unknown enemy. 

     I twisted the ring on my finger, glancing back to the billowing sails that harnessed a wind too strong for the season, too forceful in the direction we traveled.

     _This wind is no blessing from the Maker,_ a chill crawled down my spine. _It is an ill-omen and is sending us more swiftly unto destruction. I would swear that for truth on my own_ _blood_.

     "So then I said..." a bright, chipper voice broke the silence, "...that if he could not keep his eyes from my chest, that I would pluck them out and tie them atop his forehead."

     A rollicking laugh followed the end of Rylie's story, a laugh of her own, but Kestrel simply smiled, her green eyes alight as she gazed at her younger companion. I recognized the expression on the mage-templar's countenance and a mellow warmth stole over my heart.

     _Kestrel...loves her._ My lips curved upwards and my eyes threatened once more to betray me as emotion pulled tears from my soul. _And I can understand that love. Rylie is beautiful, vibrant, caring...innocent and carefree_. _She is as yet un-ruined by the templars. Kestrel's life has been fraught with such anxiety and pain; she does not with to see it befall the woman she has fallen for. Youth and newness._ I nodded in greeting to the two of them as they joined me. _Kestrel has little chance at love with a templar, especially if she confides her secret. It would be such a cruel eventuality to befall the both of them...as tragic as the ill-fated love between a Grey Warden and the newly appointed prophet of the Maker._

     Kestrel looked around the ship, seeking out any who might be nearby and listening. Finding no one in earshot, she smiled at me.

     "Leliana," she extended her hand in greeting and I clasped it. "Is everything all right?"

     "I am quite well, Kestrel." I assured her. "And exceedingly grateful."

     Rylie's dark eyes flicked between us, an expression akin to worry in them. "Am I ignorant of something?" she whispered, her lower lip trembling as she looked to her taller companion. "Kestrel?"

     _It is a reciprocated attraction,_ I realized, judging by the insecurity in Rylie's tone. _Rylie would return Kestrel's affections, if she knew them. They are so young. If love is what you truly desire, my Maker; if it is your great, undiscovered gift to this world, let there be no hindrance, should these two realize what is between them._

     "Kestrel aided me in locating my bow." I supplied a plausible lie. "It would seem our Right Hand believes that no weapon has merit but the sword, so I stashed my bow away in a random cabin, and I could not find it yesternight."

     Kestrel's eyes welled with appreciation and she nodded when Rylie turned to her for affirmation of my story. I smiled as I saw the sparks crackling between the two, the electric current of potential. Potential to join as one and become more than what they were.

     "All right, then." Rylie's indomitable smile broke through. "We sought you out because some imperious bitch informed us that we were to be assigned to your scouting party as soon as we set down anchor."

     I choked on a laugh as Kestrel's eyes widened in alarm. "Rylie," she hissed, glancing around in worry, "that was the _Right Hand_ that you spoke of. You called her..."

     "I am well aware." Rylie tossed her curls. "Her lofty title does nothing to diminish the fact that she is, in point of fact, a cold-hearted _bitch_. Look at the state Leliana is in...begging your pardon, Seeker, but you look like _death_."

     "Rylie!" Kestrel exclaimed, her eyes screaming in an apology to me.

     "No harm done." I smiled. "I am...quite fond...of unbridled honesty, though discretion would not go amiss, Rylie. Not in this place and at this time."

     "Yes, ma'am." her curls bounced with her nod, but the grin she flashed was anything but apologetic.

     "Ship ahoy!" a sailor's cry rang from the crow's nest and the fear that had been gnawing at me all day roared to the forefront.

     I dashed to the railing and looked out, seeing a dark blot on the horizon...moving towards us at incredible speed, in direct opposition to the wind that kept us firmly on our course.

     "Report!" the captain barked.

     "It's a sailing vessel, cap'n!" the lookout shouted, peering through his spyglass. "The eye of the Chantry on their sails!"

     "Signal a friendly approach." Cassandra's Nevarran accent carried across the ship. "It is the scout ship!"

     "Rylie," Kestrel's voice sounded thick with concern, "go below, get your armor on, and your sword."

     _Does Kestrel know something? Sense something? What is going on?_

     "But the ship is flying Chantry sails." Rylie's velvet black eyes swirled with confusion. "And Seeker Pentaghast said..."

     "Rylie," Kestrel took Rylie's face between her hands and pressed their foreheads together, a gesture of intimacy that I remembered and longed for, "please trust me. Please. Armor. Weapons. I will join you soon."

     "Kestrel, you're frightening me." Rylie's eyes widened and I remembered that she had never seen true combat, or taken down a true enemy.

     Kestrel pressed her lips to Rylie's forehead, clearly shocking the younger woman. I watched her cheeks flush and saw the pulse at her neck beat faster.

     "Everything is fine." Kestrel lied. "Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise."

     My heart caught in my throat as I remembered that same promise given to me in Salem's low voice and roughened accent...and the blood-soaked fortitude with which she made good on it.

     "Now go." Kestrel whispered, and I saw the moment...the moment of a love defined, the phantom kiss that should have happened, but was foregone in urgency and fear.

     Rylie dashed off, with one last worried look at the soft-spoken mage who masqueraded as a templar. Kestrel turned to me and the former thief's face hardened into a mask of resolve. Whatever was to come, it was not good, and would be quick, brutal, and terrifying.

     "You have a kitten's chance in the Deep Roads attempting to convince the Right Hand of this," Kestrel spoke, low, urgent, "but Lieutenant Kathyra might listen to you. Look at the approaching ship."

     I turned my attention to the approaching vessel, noticing, to my dismay, the thick fog that had begun to haze the ocean and obscure the sun.

     "Maker's breath..." I whispered.

     "That is a mage-made fog." Kestrel confirmed my suspicions. "And the wind that sprang up last night is anything but natural."

     "I suspected as much." I removed my bow from my back and set the string. "That ship is no Chantry vessel. This is an ambush...and Cassandra has fallen for it."

     Kestrel nodded. "I...I have to go. Leliana..."

     "No." I held up my hands. "Do what you must. Protect Rylie. I...I understand." I glanced back at the approaching trap. 

     "You  _don't_." Kestrel pressed, her green eyes alight with worry. "Any mage that could conjure weather of this sort must be  _immensely_ powerful. Possibly even a blood-mage. Be  _careful_."

     "I will be fine." I placed my hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle shove. "Go."

     Kestrel dashed below decks and I followed behind her, looking for Kathyra, the sole one with any sort of rank who would listen to me and believe my words. Cassandra would not listen, her mind would be too set in her preconceived notions and beliefs. If the few of us who knew the stakes did not act, and swiftly, the ignorance and hubris of Cassandra Pentaghast would kill us all.


	69. Oaths and Lies

**Salem**

     "Is it imperative that I wear this?" I asked, lifting the heavy, ridiculous, ornate badge of office commissioned by the late Arl Rendon Howe.

     My father had despised even his silver circlet, and wore clothing of simple make, woven in Highever, of sheep from our fields, foregoing the silks and satins that my seneschal fought to clothe me in. I had declined in favor of the uniform of the Warden Commander. I felt it necessary that those who were to swear loyalty to my rule today understood the truth of who I was, and knew what I had done. Another lord wearing gold and jewels and clad in rich clothing would simply encourage their current behavior. Knowledge that they bent the knee to one who had ended the Blight...it was important to me to remind them of such a thing.

     "Yes." Varel insisted. "Sit down before you fall down, arlessa. You should _not_ be up and about."

     His lips turned downward as, on shaky legs, I moved to the chair in front of the fire and sat down. I had awakened feeling much better, though my head still throbbed, the muscles in my right leg insisted on intermittent trembles, and the world still insisted on occasional spinning. However, that would not stop me from completing what this day mandated that I do.

     "We have discussed this, Varel." a slight smile played over my lips. "I am well enough to sit in a chair and accept the requisite oaths of fealty. And I've no wish for those who serve under me to know that this day was delayed due to personal injuries. That would ascribe to me a level of weakness that I do _not_ wish to convey."

     "And after that?" he asked, though not unkind. "Will you go dashing off after some gruesome threat?"

     I considered a flippant remark; thought better of it as I saw true concern in his fatherly gaze. "No," I answered, feeling akin to the young girl Nan had scolded. "I will retire and attempt to rest, and if sleep is not to be had, I will content myself with the delights of paperwork."

     "No need of this then." Varel tossed the contents of a glass into the fire.

     My eyes narrowed. "Varel?"

     "It was Mistress Woolsey's plot." he defended himself. "She said that, should your stubbornness thwart your recovery, that you should be...drugged. Forgive me, Salem, I wanted no part of it."

     _Maker's breath,_ I pinched the bridge of my nose. _Has it come to this? My attempts to evade my pain have endangered my life. I have never been so heedless, not even during the Blight._ I laid tentative fingers over the half-circle of stitches on my forehead, wincing in self-recrimination as I realized it would leave a scar.

     "I appreciate your concern for my well-being, Varel." I said, turning my attention once more to the heavy gold chain and bejeweled medallion...entirely too ostentatious for a simple arl. "But I _refuse_ to wear this."

     "Every noble of Ferelden must wear a badge of office." Varel declared. "The teyrns have their circlet, the arls their neck chain, the banns their broaches, lords and ladies their signets."

     "Very well." I acquiesced, rising from my chair, gripping it for support as the room spun and my right leg spasmed.

     I gritted my teeth until the spasm passed, then turned and limped to the table, opening a little box and removing a small, intricate gold chain that had been a gift to me from Alistair on the day of his coronation. Though simple, the workmanship was unrivaled, the quality of the gold pristine. I held the chain in my hand, admiring the single tear-shaped ruby that glittered in the light from the window.

     _Crimson and gold,_ I smiled, remembering my warden-brother's stuttering presentation. _Theirin colors...for the woman who returned to me my heritage...who gave me pride in who I am and the name I bear. Who...who made me believe that I could rise to the legacy of my father. It is a small thing, Salem...but it would mean the world to me if you would accept it._

     I let a tear fall as I fastened the chain about my neck, missing my friend...yet another person whom time and circumstance had taken from me.

     _At my bequest,_ I reminded my bitter heart. _I am the one who made him king. But I miss you, Alistair. Though it may have taken an eternity to wrangle the words from your lips, you never gave me anything but the truth. And even when we disagreed, you supported me **always.** I need...I need...I need... **enough!** Why beg for what I cannot have again? _

     "Here." I presented myself to Varel. "Will this suit?"

     Varel frowned. "It is scarcely visible."

     "Excellent." I quipped, tossing the heavy, disgusting medallion to my seneschal's waiting hand. "Remove the jewels and melt down that travesty. Use it to expedite the work on the Keep and aid the families who were affected in the attack. For once, let something touched by Rendon Howe help his people."

     "As you will." he nodded, his frown vanishing. "Now, arlessa, shall we?"

     I sighed and nodded, moving slowly out of the room that had been appointed as my office and towards the main hall of the keep. Varel walked beside me, offering an arm in the event that I required support. We reached the entryway and the seneschal stepped into the room, sounding his staff on the floor three times, calling the attention of the assembled banns, lords, and ladies of Amaranthine.

     "I present to you Arlessa Salem Cousland of Amaranthine, Warden Commander of Ferelden."

     I stepped into the room, nodding in acknowledgment as those assembled crossed their arms before their chests and bowed from the waist. I fought to keep from limping as I crossed to the dais and seated myself in the chair, thanking the Maker that another of Rendon Howe's indulgences had been plush cushioning. It was the one vice that I would not attempt to erase from the face of Amaranthine. However, all the cushioning in the world did not prevent the spiral of agony twisting behind my left eye. I felt blood drain from my face, but gritted my teeth and managed a thin smile. Varel came to stand at my right hand, removing a scroll from his belt and unrolling it.

     "By direct order of Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, all lands, revenue, and people of Amaranthine are answerable to the authority of Salem Cousland. All nobles unwilling to swear their fealty have the right to protest her appointment in the court of the king."

     With the formalities out of the way, the stream of noble men and women stepped forward, bowed, and offered their oath of fealty, sworn on the Maker's name. Even through the haze of my headache, I could sense that some of the vows sworn were less than honest, and in some eyes, outright hatred gleamed.

     _Although it would be a grievous lie if I said this was, in any way, unexpected. I have already sent out edicts that will greatly disrupt these nobles' lifestyels, and the rage of mankind is most easily kindled when gold is the prize. There are some here who might be allies...but I can assume nothing. I have been alone since I set foot in this land, and would be twice the fool should I expect this to change._

     As the last of them finished the words of their oath and rose, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to stand. I looked out into the crowd, breathing deep, preparing to speak words that would redeem me or damn me in the eyes of others.

     "Banns, lords, ladies," I addressed them, praying that the words I needed would come to me, as they so often had during the Blight, "I stand before you...and I have nothing but honesty to offer. Ferelden has been raked over coals, and Amaranthine suffers. You have been thrown into chaos, hounded by the retreating darkspawn, and beset by trials that would cower the heroes of legend. You laugh, sir," I directed my gaze to a sneering lord, "thinking that I have revealed a weakness, as a legend spreads of my own deeds. I am nothing but a woman." _A woman who cries out in nightmares, who walks with terror and grief, who denies her own humanity for a greater good that seems so...so much further away than it was before._

     I straightened my shoulders and continued. "I am a woman who took up swords in defense of Ferelden, and, by the Maker's grace, succeeded. I am a woman who seeks nothing but prosperity for Amaranthine and her people. If our goals align, then no assailing force will keep us from success. You know this land, and her people, in ways that I do not. I do not seek to trample, to control, or usurp any rights. But any action taken to damage this land, or its citizens, for personal gain will be met with swift justice. There will be an _end_ to the former arl's institution of indentured servitude and debtor's prison. Discrimination against other races, seen as lesser for so long, will _cease_. But, inasmuch as I am a leader, I am also a servant. A servant of the land, of the crown, and the people. No voices will be silenced. No petitions will fall on deaf ears. You have my word."

     Exhausted, I all but collapsed back into my seat, hoping that my word shad not irreparably damaged my relations with the vassals of Amaranthine. This land had been placed in my charge, and I was determined to salvage the ruins of what Rendon Howe had left behind.

     "With duty attended to," Varel intoned, "let festivities commence. Food and drink has been provided, by the arlessa's order. Let us toast to the fading of dark pasts, and the joy of new beginnings."

     The musicians that Varel had hired from Amaranthine struck up a jaunty tune with lutes, drums, flutes, and song. I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers against them, staving off tears as the music reminded me once again of my loss.

     _Her voice, lilting in song, laughing in joy, glorying in the beauties of life. You...you reminded me that beauty still existed, Leliana. Your love and your light sustained me through Thedas' darkest days. Where are you now, dear heart? Where are you when I need you the most._

     "Arlessa Cousland," a voice roused me before I fell to deeply into the pit of grief.

     I lifted my eyes, wincing as the light assaulted them, and looked into the face of a young woman. Long, straight, blonde hair tumbled to her shoulders, a small scar stood out on her chin, and her green eyes darted about the room, seeing everything and assessing it.

     "Yes." I replied.

     "I am Ser Tamra, arlessa...and I feel I must warn you." she spoke barely above a whiskery. "Though there were none who declined to give their vows, there is...unrest amongst the vassals."

     _Inform me of something unexpected._ I thought, but did not give voice.

     "Many fortunes were entwined with the former arl's gambit." she explained. "There are many discontented with the new orders you have given. However, there are a great many who wish to see the end of Howe's regime, who can see the hope and pride you have instilled with your presence alone. I am among these. I have intercepted communications between those who conspire against you."

     "Can you name them?" I asked.

     "No, arlessa." the young knight seemed ashamed. "They are written in an intricate code, and while I and my compatriots have been able to decipher their intent, their identities are still unknown to us."

     "And what is their intent, Ser Tamra?"

     "To kill you, my lady." she worried her lower lip with her teeth.

     I knew I should have felt apprehension, anger, or some other dark emotion. Instead, in the depths of my soul, I felt...nothing. No worry assailed me, no confusion whispered through my heart. I remained impassive, forcing myself to speak simply because it was required.

     "Do you have these communications with you?" I inquired.

     "No, my lady." she seemed ashamed. "I...forgive me, arlessa, but I desired to meet you in person before deciding if informing you would be a risk worth the taking. What you said...I believe you. And if you intend to act first as a servant to Amaranthine and her people, then I will serve you as best I am able."

     "Can you gather those communications and bring them to me?" I requested, admiring her honesty. "Perhaps we might be able to make sense of this together."

     "Of course, milady." she replied. "You will hear from me as soon as it is safe."

     "Thank you, Ser Tamra."

     _Another life at risk...another life that I am sworn to protect...one who seeks to protect me. I am so tired. Can it end,_ I looked to the ceiling, wondering if the Maker did indeed look down on his children and see their trials and sorrows, care for their lives. _Can it ever **fucking** end?_


	70. Begin the Slaughter

**Leliana**

     "Heavens, hells, and angels, Leliana!" Kathyra exclaimed as I burst into her cabin. She scrutinized me and her brow furrowed, a look of worry flitting into green eyes that I knew so well, and yet not at all. "Is everything all right? You look as though you've seen a ghost?"

     "All is _not_ well." I closed the door behind me. "Cassandra is going to get us killed."

     "Are you talking about the ashore scouting party?" Kathyra pursed her lips, then offered a faint smile. "You should have more faith in your abilities, Leliana. Surely the order is not so dire as all that?"

     "No." I shook my head. "I would not be worried for that in the least. The lookout just called ship ahoy. It is flying Chantry sails, and Cassandra claims it is one of our scout ships approaching for a rendezvous. But a fog has sprung up, and it is of no natural make."

     Blood drained from Kathyra's face and her eyes went bright in shock. "Maker's breath." she gasped. "The last reports from our scouts indicated that they had approached closer to the island than before. Do you think..."

     "I do." I replied, nodding for emphasis. "The mages must have captured it."

     "Cassandra must be informed." Kathyra moved past me and I grasped her arm.

     "Do you think she will listen?" I asked the physician, forcing her eyes to mine. "She has ranted about _nothing_ but the Maker's blessings from the outset of this mission. She will not heed any form of warning. Believe you me, I have witnessed the destruction that one who leads in such a manner can cause."

     "Cassandra is stubborn, but not an imbecile." Kathyra defended her friend, Beatrix's right hand, but I could sense it was out of fear, rather than support.

     "And the instant you relay to her that the warning came from me, Kathyra?" I asked. "What would happen then? You know," I breathed deep, calming myself, "you know any chance of her belief would fly like the birds at the first sign of winter."

     She sighed and threaded her fingers through her curls. "Damn it. I know you are right...I just...I do not wish to believe such a thing of the woman who has been my friend these many years. However, that is beside the point. There are more lives here at stake than ours. What do you need from me?"

     The relief pouring over me was so profound I could have kissed her with gratitude. I settled for grasping her hands in mine and whispering a prayer of thanks. "The templars will listen to you. I need you to tell them to prepare for combat, and," I recalled Kestrel's warning, "at least one exceptionally powerful mage. Perhaps even a blood mage...or worse."

     "Ancient gods." kathyra breathed. "How do you know all of this, Leliana?"

     "Intuition." I smiled, unwilling to break Kestrel's cover. "Instinct. A long period of time spent in the company of mages. We did fight against more than darkspawn. Trust me, Kathyra. you would od well to armor yourself and take up your weapons."

     "Of course."

     We exited her cabin and entered the hall. "Templars!" Kathyra called and the two cabins open, ten men and women flooding into the narrow hallway and standing at attention. "A ship has been sighted." Kathyra spoke. "We have reason to believe that the occupants, presumed mages, aboard that ship harbor ill-will towards us. Arm yourselves and assemble on deck. Prepare for battle."

     A silent salute went up and the templars vanished into their cabins on orders from Sergeant Alan. Kathyra turned to me. "Help me with my armor?" she asked, and I nodded my assent.

     We re-entered her cabin and I assisted in attaching the heavy plates of armor, buckling the leather straps, holding it in place until, at last, the physician was fully armored. I stood back, assessing her, making sure that I had missed nothing, eyes riveted to the pristine condition of her armor.

     _Salem's armor was always ripped, dented, or scarred. I cannot count how many times it was repaired, how many moments of fear I experienced as I saw the metal coated with her blood. I wonder,_ I looked into Kathyra's resolute green eyes, _will I lose those the Maker has brought to my side? How much blood will be shed on this day, and all because of the ignorance of a woman who believes that divine protection belongs to her, and her alone?_

 _Maker, please,_ I whispered a silent prayer, _give me Salem's strength. Allow me to be the force in battle that protects, defends, and sees victory through to the very end. Keep all of them safe, please. They are innocent in all of this, pawns played on a chessboard that outstrips their comprehension._

     I adjusted the last strap of Kathyra's pauldron as she fixed her sword belt about her waist. "Leliana," her voice was low, hoarse, "please be safe."

     "I am not concerned for myself." I told her, knowing what she did not know and what Cassandra would refuse to believe. In all of this mess, I had been granted divine protection.

     "I am concerned _for_ you." she reached out, touching my cheek with the leather of her glove. "I...I would not wish to see any harm come to you. You are...I...you are a true friend, Leliana Cousland, and I have known such precious few. I would...it would...no matter what happens, take care of yourself."

     "On the condition that you swear to do the same." I replied, taking her gloved hand in mine and squeezing it. "You have taken many risks for me, Kathyra, and the thanks I could give you pales in comparison. Remember this, no matter _what_ happens, victory or defeat, we _will not_ lose."

     Her face became puzzled. "You said the same when you faced Cassandra in single combat. It makes no sense, Leliana."

     I smiled and opened the door of the cabin. "I once thought the same." I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "Though the strange mantra always worked for Salem."

     "Your warden never lost a battle, did she?" Kathyra asked, looking for comfort, looking for hope.

     "I would not call every engagement an out and out victory," I replied with the truth, as Salem would have done, no matter the dire circumstances. "But she never lost." I flashed a roguish smile.

     "She lost you." Kathyra whispered, and the torment in her green eyes spoke volumes. "I could spend a century in abject apology, and still never deserve forgiveness. You are too good for this world, Leliana...perhaps that is why I fear you will be taken from it.

     "Stop this." I urged, the heart-felt words on the eve of battle dragging me back into desperate, frantic, tormented and beautiful memories. "We can speak further after the battle. Kathyra, stay as much out of the fight as you can, please. You are the only physician on board; we cannot afford your loss."

     "I will attempt." she answered and we left her cabin and walked up toward the deck. "But I _will_ do my part to prevent loss of life."

     "What in hell is this!?" Cassandra demanded as she saw Kathyra armored and carrying her sword. "The scout ship is nearly close enough to board and you are arrayed as though for battle."

     "It can harm nothing to be prepared, Cassandra." Kathyra kept her face impassive. "I've ordered the templars to arm themselves."

     "Foolish." Cassandra snorted, but made no move to counter Kathyra's orders.

     I stepped away, heading for the crows nest, where I would have a better vantage point and be able to use my bow to its full extent. Beatrix and her desire for uniformity in her armed ranks be damned. That was a foolish error, and the innocent would suffer for it.

     "Where are you going, Cousland?" Cassandra asked, angry. "We will meet our allies as a united front."

     Ren came to stand beside the Right Hand, a menacing presence and consummate enforcer.

     I looked out to the sea and saw the approaching ship drawing near enough to fire a volley of arrows upon us. _I have no time to argue this!_

     "All due respect intended, Cassandra," I smiled, "you and your 'united front' can burn in hellfire."

     I turned on my heel and climbed the ladder to the crows next, nodding at the lookout, removing my bow from my back and nocking an arrow against the string. The approaching ship's lookout waved a white flag in the air, requesting permission to board. It was a friendly gesture, yes, but I did not trust it.

     "Grant it!" Cassandra yelled from below, her ire at me present in her voice.

     "I do not care for this at all." the lookout muttered, reaching for his own signal flag. I stayed him.

     "Then do not signal." I suggested to him, a look in my eyes conveying that it would be wise to listen. "And stay low."

     His eyes widened. "Is it an enemy vessel?" he asked.

     "It may well be." I answered, keeping my eyes on the ship, watching the flurry of activity on board, not seeing a single person there dressed in a templar or Seeker's livery.

     "I," his voice grew tight with fear, "I signed on to take a crew to the island. I'm no soldier. I've a wife...children...damn it, this was meant to be a simple delivery and return. Seeker, I don't...I don't want to die."

     I looked into his face; saw the terror and the grief. My heart bled. _How did Salem do this!?_ I wondered, anguished. _How did she look into seas of people wearing this same expression and offer them calm and confidence? Maker, why me? I have no idea of even where to begin. But...I am a Cousland now...and they have ever been capable of accomplishing the impossible._

     I glanced towards the enemy vessel, my eyes wide as a wave of mage-made flame washed over the bow of our ship, the first attack. I clenched Eleanor Cousland's bow in my hand and placed my other hand on the sailor's shoulder, forcing him down.

     "You will see your wife and children again." I said as the panic and chaos of battle began below us. "I give you my word."


	71. Sentenced to Death

**Salem**

     "Are you certain that you are all right?" Varel inquired, his concerned blue eyes raking me up and down...hovering over me like a fretful nanny. 

     "I am fine." I replied, a sad smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "A little tired."

     My seneschal's lips pursed in a frown. "Why am I not surprised?" he muttered. "I noticed that you did not partake of food or drink during the festivities. Salem...when was the last time you ate anything?"

     I leaned against the doorway of my office and pinched the bridge of my nose, wracking my brain for the answer. "I...I cannot remember." I admitted. "I have no appetite of late."

     "Most unusual, for a Grey Warden." Varel's frown deepened. "And I have noticed your decision was to retire to your office, and not your chambers. Salem, you are going to work yourself into an exhausted collapse. I would order you to eat a hot meal and immediately retire to bed if I thought there was the faintest chance you might  _listen_."

     I rested my hand on his shoulder. "I need answers." I spoke, referring to the documents we had stolen from the Architect's lair. "I need answers more than rest. There is too much at stake, and what I am doing is important."

     "It is not as important as your health." Varel countered, the raising of his voice inspiring a new onslaught of pain behind my eyes and in my heart, for Leliana had often spoken to me so on this very topic. "You _must_ take care of yourself, arlessa."

     "Varel," truth poured from me in a frustrated wave, "I cannot sleep. Every candlemark I wake in a cold sweat, thrown from the depths of some horrendous nightmare. Food has no taste; wind has no affect. My bloody head will _not_ stop aching and I am...I am heartsick. I am full of sorrow. Sleep will do nothing for me and, at least, when I am awake, I can do _some_ good. I can escape from this hell that is my existence and attempt to make my people's lives better than my own."

     "You are a strange study, Salem." Varel's eyes shone with a strange light. "I do not understand how your personal torment drives you to better the lives of others. I have never met a soul capable of matching your own, arlessa. Is there...is there any remedy for what ails you? Anything that I can do to ease your path and mitigate your pain?"

     My heart ached as I shook my head, quenching his hope. _He seeks to help...he seeks to help a woman who is dead and yet persists in breathing. I am not meant for this world. I have known as much since Fort Drakon. I have known as much since Rendon Howe sacked Cousland Hall._

     "No." I told him. "The most skilled of mages have attempted to mitigate my dreaming and ease my rest. Nothing they did made any sort of difference; not spells, potions, or drunken stupors. It is the same for this damnable headache...all are simply trials that I must endure and overcome."

     _Nothing could ease my suffering. Nothing but Leliana's presence. In her arms, I slept the night through, untroubled, unhaunted. Under her touch, the pain of my body fled...I miss you, my love. And I pray that you will forgive me for needing you so terribly. But I do need you. I do._

     "I take it you are intent on working, arlessa?" Varel asked.

     "I am."

     "Very well." he muttered, shaking his head in capitulation. I was grateful that he understood me in the manner that he did. "But you must compromise somewhere, Salem, or I will see you drugged into slumber. _No_ undue physical strain, and when I bring you a meal, you _will_ eat it."

     "Agreed." I extended my hand, smiling as Varel clasped it.

     "I will be gone but a moment."

     "As you say."

     Varel departed, I presumed, for the kitchen. I entered my office, limping to my chair and seating myself before the heavy oaken desk that I had liberated from Rendon Howe's library. I sighed and rubbed my right leg. The muscles were rippling beneath the skin for no reason other than that they had been damaged beyond repair when the bone of my leg sheared them that day above Fort Darkon, when the leg had been broken. The scar burned as I pressed against it and the bone ached.

     "If this continues, I am going to be forced into utilizing a cane." I muttered, resting my head against the desk, the cool of the wood doing little to clam the fierce, insistent drumming between my temples.

     After a moment, I straightened my back, cursing as it audibly popped. I rifled through the papers on the desk, the strange Architect's documentation of...whatever it had been doing.

    The first few papers revealed nothing. They appeared to be a chart of some sort, documenting dosages and times. I set the papers aside and turned to a leather bound book, opening it and poring over the contents. The first entries spoke of finding the silverite mines, corralling the darkspawn who had fled from Denerim, and beginning the experiments, of which there was precious little enlightening information.

     The stilted, spidery handwriting of one entry captured my attention, and I read the passage.

* * *

     _It would appear that the order of Grey Wardens exposes their recruits to the taint of darkspawn blood. Every body endures and takes to the taint in a different manner, and information, what little of it I have managed to glean, speaks of a two in five success rate. Those wardens who do survive the 'Joining', as it is called, find their senses heightened, becoming a separate sentient part of the hive mind to which the darkspawn are subject._

_I wonder...perhaps, if the Joining were reverse engineered, would there be a way to use the magically altered blood of Grey Wardens as a catalyst to forcibly separate the minds of common darkspawn from the hive consciousness, providing them a sentience and command of their lives independent of the machinations of an archdemon?_

* * *

     I let the book fall back on the desk and ran my hand through my hair, wincing as I absently raked my palm over the stitches in my head. 

     _Is this what it wanted?_ I asked myself. _The reason the talking darkspawn was more than willing to kill my companions for my cooperation...or le_ _ave them be if I acquiesced to being his prisoner? Is it even possible to separate the darkspawn from the sway of the archdemon? If that were true...they would be able to speak for themselves, think for themselves...plant weapons in order to deflect blame. Human intelligence...free will...is it possible that our blood can affect them as theirs affects us? The ramifications of this are...staggering._

_And what if the tainted...those like Ruck, Seranni, Rowland...could the infection be slowed by an infusion of Grey Warden blood? Even cured?_

     I shook my head to clear it and continued reading, though I dreaded what I might one day find.

* * *

     _What experiments I have conducted have been limited due to the lack of Grey Wardens, though  moderate success has been reached. It would appear that the success rate might mirror that of the "Joining," as many of the subjects suffer an adverse reaction resulting in death. It would also appear that the blood of differing wardens provides different effects. The Joining can be accomplished without the blood of an archdemon, and the experiments who were exposed to the warden blood absent of the archdemon's were more prone to a negative reaction._

_However, the reverse proves true of the wardens themselves. Those exposed to the blood of an archdemon, even the single drop used in the Joining, have been shown to succumb to the taint at a far faster rate than those of other wardens who were **not** given the blood of an archdemon. Of course, there are other factors: the warden's strength of will, overall physical condition, and mental stamina. There are tales of wardens who live thirty years after the Joining before succumbing at last to the taint, but those exposed to the blood of an archdemon seem to expire in half that time. And, I would hazard to assume that those who are exposed, by chance, to a large amount of the archdemon's blood would find themelves given to a much, much shorter lifespan. Five years, at the most optimistic._

* * *

     My vision blurred and the book fell to the floor with a dull thud. My hands tremored and I fell back in my seat, the strange, spidery handwriting hovering in my vision like a curse as my mind processed every word. I did not know if the blood I had drank during my Joining had borne the blood of an archdemon. What I did know...

     _The scars on my body from the archdemon's blood. It burned through my skin and mingled with my own blood, incorporating itself into my body, riddling it with infection. Wynne said that I nearly died from the two different bloods battling in my veins. I have...I wanted...I had thought there would be **time!** Thirty years...thirty years whittled down to...down to nearly **nothing!** Summer will mark a year since my Joining. How much time is left to me now? Two years? One year? Not enough...not nearly enough. _

     "No." I whispered to the absence of anyone who might care. "It cannot be...Maker, please...no."

     The door opened and Varel entered, bearing a plate heaped high with choice cuts of meat and roasted vegetables. He set the tray on the desk and glanced at me, seeing something amiss.

     "Arlessa, are you quite well?" he solicited. "You're white as snow."

     "It is nothing." I assured him. "Simply some...unexpected...information."

     "Very well then. I expect you to eat this, Salem." he pointed at the plate of food.

     "Of course." I waved him away. "Thank you, Varel."

     He exited the room and the wire-tight constraints I had placed on my emotions snapped out of place with a nearly deafening crack. I lifted the glass from the tray and flung it against the wall, watching it shatter, splinter apart like the shards of my life.

     "Why!?" I sobbed, my shoulders shaking as tears I could not control spilled over my eyes. "I gave you **everything!** " I pounded my fist against the desk in impotent fury, screaming at the Maker who had stolen everything from me. " _I gave you my **fucking** **life!** I spilled my **blood!** You said that you **forgave me!** You said that I could live and you took my reason for living from me! Damn you!" _I shouted, rising from my chair and knocking it backwards against the floor. I looked to the sky and clenched my hands into fists. " _ **Damn you into hell! If you are a kind god, speak to me! Tell me why!?"** _

     A ferocious shudder kicked through my right leg and gave out, sending me crashing to the floor. I landed across the chair, adding new bruises to my already battered body.

     "Damn it!" I cursed, my voice hoarse with screaming and the tears that would not cease. "I did nothing wrong." I wept, curling into myself, breathing much too fast. "I did nothing wrong. Why must I suffer? Please...please...I _love_ her. I _love_ her as you loved Andraste...why did you take her from me? Maker, what have I done wrong? I..." I gasped, attempting to slow my labored breathing...failing. "...I do not want to die."

     The truth left me in desperation and I realized, to my own self-loathing, that no matter my decisions or thoughts to the contrary...I wanted nothing more than life. A life with Leliana, seeing her, touching her, listening to her voice and sharing her joys, triumphs, sorrows... _loving_ her.

     My breathing refused to slow and I pushed myself off of the fallen chair, collapsing against the stone floor, letting unconsciousness take me.

     _For once...the nightmares...will be kinder...than reality._


	72. Brutality, Bloodshed, and Magic

**Leliana**

     "What in hell!" Cassandra exclaimed as the flames washed against the hull of the ship. "Templars and Seekers, to arms! We are under attack!"

     _No!_ Sarcastic anger spiraled through my thoughts as I drew back my bow, felling the lookout in the opposing ship's crows nest. _You stupid petulant **child**! You've brought destruction upon us all! _

     The templars spilled out onto the deck as the sailors scrambled to put out the flames. A cruel, bitter, icy wind sprang up, staying the motion of our ship and chilling us to the bone. The disguised ship slid alongside ours and came to a sudden, unnatural stop. A sheet of magic spread from one to the other, making what appeared to be a bridge.

     A templar charged towards it, ready to take the battle to the mage's ship.

     "Stay back!" Sergeant Alan grabbed the private and wrenched him backwards. "They'll drop it the instant you set foot on it and the weight of your armor will drown you!"

     _We will have to wait for them to board us,_ I realized, watching flames crawl up the ropes and catch the sails. Smoke filled the air and pieces of burning canvas began falling down like a rain of embers.

     "It's too dangerous!" the lookout grabbed me as I reached for another arrow. "We have to get down!"

     "Go!" I shouted, pulling back on my bowstring, sighting the first enemy who crossed the magical bridge. I let the arrow fly, watching as the sword-wielding sailor toppled into the ocean below, clutching at the arrow in his throat.

     I shivered as I saw templars in the opposing ship, my excellent eyesight allowing me to see their glazed-over eyes and strange, mechanical movements. I had seen this sort of look before...in the eyes of the mages who had been made Tranquil.

     _They are all under magical sway! The mages took the ship **and** enslaved the templars on board! Damn it all to hell!_

     I kept firing at our enemies as they crossed the bridge, the power of the enchanted bow startling me as my arrows punched through even the thick templar plate. But it was not enough. The decks below swarmed with enemies, and the heat of the flames and the smoke of the burning sails caught in my throat.

     I slung my bow across my back, held my hand over my mouth, and descended the ladder, entering the fray with daggers drawn. I ducked under the swipe of an enspelled templar's sword, pitching myself forward and hamstringing him with my daggers. He fell with a cry and I did not finish the kill. He would not rise again, and ending the battle was of paramount importance.

     I rose to my feet and charged forward, seeking out the true cause of the disarray, the mages flinging spells across the ship, disorienting and diverting. A perfect lighting war. A thick fog sprung up on the deck of the ship, obscuring my vision and turning everything into a murky haze. I was unable to discern which figure in templar armor was friend or foe.

     I dodged a falling body and clawed my way through the fog, lashing out at whatever enemy appeared. The crack of lightning sizzled past my ear and I surged forward. Bronson was pinned down against a mage, his shield of light faltering under the onslaught of the familiar black and crimson swirls of blood magic.

     I approached the occupied mage from behind, grasping her about the throat and forcing my dagger up, into her side, between her ribs, straight into her heart. Blood poured out over my hand as I twisted the blade with a well-honed flick of my wrist before withdrawing it, leaving a gaping hole in the blood-mage's side. She fell without a cry and Bronson rose from his kneeling position, gripping his sword. He nodded at me in thanks before his eyes widened in alarm.

     I dove to the side as a massive blade cleaved through the air where I had been standing. Bronson stepped into the attack and parried his opponent's blade with a massive strike, following through with a downward slash that tore the man's head from his body.

     I pushed myself up and nodded at Bronson, who disappeared into the fog and smoke in search of another enemy.

     "Hold fast!" Cassandra's accent peeled across the chaos. "Stand your ground and strike down the enemies of light!"

     _Because rousing speeches cut down enemies as easily as a blade,_ I thought, dark.

     A gust of frigid wind cleared away the fog and what I saw sent shockwaves of fear rippling through me.

     _The great power...is **no** blood mage._

     A hulking figure made its way across the bridge of magic. Its skin warped, twisted, and undulated as it opened its mouth in a deafening roar. Spirals of violet magic streamed from its fingers and an ear-splitting crack sounded as the mainmast splintered at its base. Slivers of wood sprayed out, targeting enemies and allies alike.

     Pinpricks of pain radiated across my neck, left shoulder, and arm as minor splinters embedded themselves in my skin.

     The mainmast fell and splintered the deck, amid cries of pain from voices I could not distinguish. I bent my knees as the ship shuddered under the impact and rocked dangerously. Splashes greeted my ears and the cries of "man overboard!" rang out at a far too alarming rate.

     I pushed forward as the abomination stepped onboard the ruined deck of our ship. A templar charged, shield before them, sword raised high. They struck the abomination's shield and staggered back; a stream of violet flame arced from the abomination's mangled hand, striking the templar across the chest. They dropped to their knees, their helmet fell off and released a tangle of chestnut curls.

     "Rylie!" a desperate cry rang out in the normally soft, diminutive voice of kestrel.

     The mage-templar darted towards her comrade and the abomination turned its distorted features toward the movement. Cassandra moved forward to attack, her sword bouncing off of the shield, doing no damage, making no impact. I unslung my bow from my back as the abomination directed its fingers towards Kestrel.

     I nocked an arrow, praying that the Dalish elf who had illuminated the properties of my bow and spoken true. I pulled back on the string, aiming for the abomination's skull, and letting the arrow fly. A flash of light appeared as the arrow struck the shield and the templars backed away. I fired again, listening to the satisfying 'smack' of an arrowhead into flesh.

     The wind calmed and the fog began to vanish, revealing the abomination clawing uselessly at the arrows, embedded up to their fletching, in its body. A shrill, inhuman scream left the abomination's lips as it teetered and swayed, before at last collapsing to the deck in a sick puddle of congealed, black blood.

     In a sudden flash, it seemed the chaos had ended. There were no more bursts of magic, no screams of attacking mages. No more enemies charged across the bridge of magic. Moments later, the bridge vanished into nothingness.

     "Clean it up!" Sergeant Alan ordered as the atmosphere calmed, attempting to bring order to the chaos that often came at the end of a fight. "Find survivors; help the injured; put out the fires! Move your arses! _Now!_ "

     I slung my bow over my back, keeping it strung in the event that more enemies emerged. The fires were raging, almost out of control. The sail of the mainmast burned, spreading out across the deck of the ship. The vessel would not remain seaworthy for long.

     "Bronson, Sergeant Alan!" I shouted. "Pull up some of the wreckage and build a bridge. We have to evacuate the wounded to the other ship!"

     The templar sergeant assessed the situation, nodded to Bronson, and they immediately began pulling planks from the ruined deck, at last finding one long enough and wide enough to serve as a bridge between the ships. That done, I raced to Kestrel, who held the motionless Rylie in her arms. The mage's ice green eyes were wide with terror.

     "Grab her legs." I directed, tucking my elbows beneath Rylie's shoulders. "We have to get her to the other ship, now."

     Kestrel complied, mute, and we lifted Rylie, carefully navigating the bodies splayed out on the deck, carrying her across the fragile bridge to the undamaged deck of the other ship. we laid her down and I placed my ear against her lips, feeling the warmth of her breath.

     "She's alive." I looked to Kestrel, whose eyes would not stray from the fearsome gash across Rylie's chestplate, the sheared metal and the blood flowing over it in thick rivulets. "Get her armor off."

     I pulled my knife and sliced across the leather straps on her shoulders and sides, flipping the chestplate off and wincing at the damage done to Rylie's body. A deep gash started at her right shoulder and continued diagonally across her body, between her breasts, down to her left hipbone.

     "Maker's breath." I hissed, rising and running toward a lowered sail. I sliced off a large piece of the canvas and returned to Kestrel, handing it to her. "Staunch the bleeding as best you can." I told her. "I'll find Kathyra."

     Kestrel's lips pursed in grim resolve as she pressed the canvas over the injury, nodding at me in silent permission to leave. I dashed across the bridge, shouting Kathyra's name through the smoke and the lifting fog.

     "Seeker Cousland!" Sergeant Alan shouted. "I've found the lieutenant!"

     _Oh no. No no no no no no no._

     I ran towards the sound of his voice, finding a shocked Cassandra, Sergeant Alan, and Bronson standing over a prone body. I skidded to my knees beside Kathyra, bile rising in my throat as I saw the large, sharpened piece of wood protruding from her left side. Her eyes were open and she breathed in short, jerking gasps. The tabard beneath her wrecked cuirass was soaked with blood.

     "Kathyra," I whispered, gently turning her face to mine, taking in the pallor of her features...bloodless with more than pain. "Hold on. You are going to be all right."

     Her face fell as we both realized my hopeful lie. Kathyra was the sole person on board with healer's training...with her injured so gravely, chances stood that we would lose her and Rylie both. I could not allow that to happen. I _would_ not allow that to happen.

     I looked to Sergeant Alan. "Get her to the other ship. _Now._ We cannot afford the wounded inhaling any more smoke."

     The sergeant nodded and enlisted Bronson to aid him. Kathyra's jaw tightened as they lifted her, but she refused to cry out in pain. I looked to Cassandra, wondering what she would think. She had forced us into this confrontation, and her friend, or so she said, had been gravely injured. I waited for her to speak, wondering if the woman had any measure of conscience at all.

     "Ren..." Cassandra's bloodless lips trembled. "Ren went overboard. The...the weight of his armor drowned him. We have...we must go back to Orlais."

     A thousand thoughts tumbled through my mind as I considered our position. Unless a god appeared and blessed us, we would not make it back to Val Royeaux in time to treat Kathyra and Rylie's wounds properly.

     "No." I countered. "We cannot. Orlais is at least three days sail from here, with natural winds, which are _not_ currently in our favor. If I recall the map correctly, Ferelden is a day's sail away, with Amaranthine as the nearest port city. We have to set sail, and soon, if Kathyra and Rylie are to have any chance of survival."

     "No. The Divine must be informed and further plans set in motion. You will learn, Cousland, sooner rather than later, the great _sacrifice_ our calling requires." Cassandra turned to the ship's captain, who had appeared behind us, face haggard and cragged with grief and despair. "Get your sailors to the other ship and make ready to sail back to Val Royeaux."

     "You cold-hearted bitch!" I stepped in close and, without thinking, slammed my fist, covered by hardened leather, against her temple.

     The Right Hand fell to her knees and glared at me with hazy cinnamon eyes. Her lips twitched and she looked as though she fought to speak. I would not allow it. I reached back and brought my fist down again, sending her in an unconscious slump to the deck of the ship. I looked up to the captain.

     "Take that worthless wretch to the other ship and lock her up below. Strip her of her weapons, bind and gag her, and set sail for the port city of Amaranthine. Am I understood?"

     "Aye aye, ma'am." the captain answered, dragging Cassandra across the makeshift bridge.

     I dashed below decks, coughing in the heavy, acrid smoke. I staggered through the hallway, stumbling in the dark, at last reaching Kathyra's cabin. I stumbled into the room, my lungs burning, my eyes watering, and found her physician's back. I clutched it in a death grip and stumbled back into the smoke-choked hall, staggering through it and back up the stairs. I emerged on deck, dropped the back, and bent over, struggling to regain my breath. I glanced around the area, ensuring that the rest of the sailors had crossed to the other ship. I followed the last of them and threw the bridge into the sea, nodding at the captain, who began to bellow orders as the navigator unrolled his map with bloodied hands.

     "Get the wounded below." I ordered, templars and sailors alike rushing to comply. I pulled Kestrel to her feet as Bronson carried Rylie below decks, followed by a now-unarmored Kathyra cradled in Sergeant Alan's arms.

     "I need you with me." I looked at the young mage, her pale, trembling hands and terrified eyes, but she nodded in spite of her worry.

     "C...Can you save them?" she asked, heart in her throat.

     "We will try." the grating of chains against wood greeted my ears as the sailors hauled up the anchor and the ship began to move, away from the island, towards land.

     I could do nothing but hope that we would reach Amaranthine in time...there should have been no wounded, no casualties. Were it not for the arrogance of Cassandra Pentaghast, there might not have been. However, good men and women had died...and two very good women were gravely wounded. The battle had ended, but I knew in my heart that the war had just begun.

     _Maker, give me strength,_ I begged as I descended the stairs, hardening my resolve. _In the battle for life that is soon to be waged, I swear...I swear that I will **not** lose. _


	73. The Manner in Which One Lives

**Salem**

_"Dark thoughts again, warden?" Leliana smiles at me as I sit down beside the campfire. Her voice draws my attention to the dancing flickers of light and shadow dancing across her face, illuminating and hiding the beauty of her features in a delicate shadow-play._

_"Are not all thoughts less than radiant in this time?" I ask, attempting to evade her question._

_Leliana stretches out, crossing her legs before her and leaning back on her hands, contemplating my question as the rest of our comrades disappear into their tents, taking their rest where they can while we stand watch._

_"Perhaps." she does not disagree. "Though we do not all wear our dark thoughts on our countenance, as you do."_

_I wince under the realization that my mask has begun to slip...that she has begun to seek after my emotions and solicit speech. And yet...I am driven to answer, if only to hear the lyric notes of her accent against my ears._

_"Does...does such a sight displease you?" I ask, feeling ready to strike myself as I hear a vulnerable note in my voice._

_Her eyes soften in the firelight and one side of her mouth quirks upwards in a grin. The expression sends a surge of fire through my veins and I restrain, not for the first time, from reaching across the distance between us, tangling my fingers in that beautiful, fiery hair, and pressing her lips against my own. As much as I wish do, I cannot deny the desire that surges through me in moments like these, quiet moments where she and I are alone with naught but the stars and the night birds for companionship._

_"I am not displeased so much as intrigued." her answer reignites the kindling of what I know is want, but refuse to acknowledge as such. "In all the tales, the hero walks about with shining eyes and rippling hair, facing demons and dangers with a smile."_

_"Ah, and there is your mistake, Leliana." I hang my head and let bitterness flow through me in the river of my veins. "You would equate me to a hero of legend when I am nothing but a simple woman."_

_"Is it truly a mistake?" she wonders, her eyes piercing mine, drying my throat and quickening my pulse. "You have set out to defeat the demon of our Age. Gathered around you are an unlikely band of heroes from varied, colorful, and not all glittering pasts. All of these stories have been revealed in shards and fragments...save your own." her voice falters at this and she tilts her head, looking at me through long, seductive lashes. "Will I ever know the story behind the enigmatic Salem Cousland, who walks with shoulders straight and head held high, who has nothing but kind words for the unfortunate and wrath for her enemies...a woman who never weeps but carries a galaxy of emotions inside her eyes."_

_**So very...poetic...** I swallow, hard, clenching  my hands into fists so that they will not reach for what I shall not be able to attain. _

_"I was speaking to Alistair." I say, thinking it safer to respond to her first inquiry than to reply to...to... **that.**_

_"And?" she reaches beside her and begins the arduous task of attaching feathers to the shafts of new arrows. "He is usually so cheerful, in spite of our circumstances. Did the two of you have a disagreement?"_

_"No." I shake my head. "No. I was simply inquiring of him what he knew of Grey Wardens. Some of what I learned...came as a shock."_

_"Oh?" her eyes rise from the fletching and meet my own. "Might I ask what you discovered, or is it a closely guarded warden secret?"_

_"Would it matter?" I ask, thinking again of my ignorance, my devastating helplessness in the face of the great madness of this Age. "Alistair and I are the sole wardens in this Maker-forsaken land...and our fellow wardens in Weisshaupt are unwilling to aid us. They think us liars," I spat, "like Loghain."_

_"Now, now, my warden." Leliana smiles and reaches out, clasping my wrist with her hand. **Maker's breath, her touch is exquisite...wait...** **my** **warden?** "Such anger is needless, no? Especially when you can direct it at nothing but yourself in the absence of your named enemy."_

_Leliana withdrew her hand and I nearly reached after her, wanting, **needing** that touch once again. "You are right." I admit, calming the fury in my heart. "Thank you," **how is it that you can drag me back from my anger, Leliana? We do not...I do not...but I want...no. It cannot be.** "And no. It is no secret. From what Duncan relayed to Alistair, wardens are not immune to the taint. The magic of the Joining does little but stay the infection for a time."_

_"Is that so? For..." she clears her throat, erasing the hesitance I first heard, "...for how long?"_

_I sigh and thread my hand through my hair. "Thirty years, at the most optimistic." I sound dispirited to my own ears, but I do not know why._

_**It is not as though I have anything to return to. My title has been stripped, my lands taken...my family wiped out...massacred. I am the last of a dead line...why has this revelation from Alistair disheartened me so? Could it be...** I watch Leliana in the firelight, the way her nimble fingers carve grooves in the rounded shafts, inserting the feathers with a delicate hand, spreading a sticky sap over the arrow to hold the fletching in place. Her brow is furrowed in concentration; her lips pursed in an adorable frustration... **could it be that I want more than a warden's life? More than traveling from country to country, killing and fighting and tunneling in the Deep Roads? But no. Who would accept me, when there is a limit on time...when the future is so...so definite and dark. **_

_"So you are borrowing tomorrow's troubles?" Leliana smiles as she looks up from her work. "Are there not enough already present to content you?"_

_My lips flash upward, stunning me, and the light in Leliana's eyes threatens to consume me. "It is just..." I falter, searching for words, "...I do not know, Leliana. I have scarcely thought beyond tomorrow, but...faced with this, I must confess that I am daunted. I wanted..."_

_"A life?" the Orlesian leans in closer, disregarding her task. Her hand reaches out and closes over mine. "A love, perhaps? Something beyond bloodshed and battle?"_

_**Please...stop...** the gentleness of her hand brings me physical pain. I have not known a kind touch since my father's clasp of my hand and my mother's kiss on my cheek that fateful night. _

_"Perhaps...something such as that." I offer no further illumination._

_"Time is what you make of it, Salem." she answers, and a sweeping sorrow fills her gaze. "You could experience thirty years of hell or heaven in a single day. Or, out of fear...you might live but one day in seventy years."_

_**I could live a lifetime in your gaze,** my thoughts betray me. _

_"Why do you spend your time among us, then?" I ask, keeping my voice as kind as possible, not wishing to question her motives or anger her or... **Maker forbid**...drive her away. _

_"I am tired of fear." she answers, and I want her secrets and I want her pain...I want her hand to never leave from where it covers my own. "I...I must confess, Salem. I desire what I see in you. I have never witnessed fear in your gaze, hesitance in your steps, or lack of surety in your words. How do you do it, my warden?"_

_**My warden,** a sweet warmth infuses me as she says the words a second time. _

_"I have nothing left to lose." I admit._

_"Funny that." she removes her hand and flashes her endearing half-smile once again. "Neither have I."_

* * *

     I awoke from the memory with a star, wincing as my head throbbed and the room spun with the sudden jerk of my body. I groaned, disentangled myself from the fallen chair, and got to my feet, thanking what little mercy existed for me as I felt my right leg hold solid under my weight. There was too little grace in this world, and I had expended so much of it. I knew there would not be much left for me.

     I righted the chair and grimly suffered through the now cold food and tepid spiced wine that Varel had brought me, not wishing to anger, disappoint, or worry the single man who showed concern for my well-being. When that was done, I turned back to the Architect's journal, determined to use what little time I had left to me to bring peace to this land. Peace...that which I had been named for, and which I had all-too-rarely known.

     _This is what I shall make my calling, for there is no one here with whom I can live, and love...and sweeten the time I have been given._


	74. Fighting Death Himself

**Leliana**

     "Elevate her legs." I ordered Kestrel, noticing faint shivers beginning to wrack Rylie's semi-conscious form. "She is going to go into shock soon if we do not prevent it."

     Kestrel nodded and dragged a crate from the other side of the cabin, gritting her teeth as she lifted Rylie's legs and set them on the crate with the greatest of care. She returned to Rylie's side and began applying pressure to the hideous wound once again. "Leliana...I...I can't stop the bleeding." she confessed, shifting the blood-drenched piece of sail that covered the fearsome gash in Rylie's chest.

     "Keep pressure." I instructed, rustling through the contents of Kathyra's bag and pulling a wide swath of bandaging from it. "Here." I handed it to the mage-Templar, who placed it over the injury and set again to her ask with grim resolve, a resolve underlain by fierce panic. Kestrel's shoulders were shuddering, her lips parted and quivering, sweat beading on her forehead and dripping down her face and off of her jaw onto her hands.

     I turned my eyes away and took another roll of bandaging for myself and focused my attention on Kathyra. Her face was waxy and wan, sheened with sweat, her breathing too shallow, and flecks of blood dotted her lips. I examined the shrapnel in her body, frowning as I saw it angled upward, quite possibly near the physician's lung. I did not know the length of the projectile, nor would I pull it free to find out.

     "Leave..." Kathyra gasped, "...leave me be." her eyes flitted to Rylie. "Help her."

     "I will lose neither of you." I placed a bloody hand on Kathyra's cheek and for a terrible, terrible moment, the green of her eyes morphed into an impossibly strong silver-blue. I felt catapulted back to the myriad times Salem's bloodied, ripped body had lain beneath my hands...the helplessness that I had felt then. I felt it now, as well. "Rest, Kathyra. Settle your mind, ease your muscles, and please, _please_ rest."

     Kestrel's eyes flashed to mine. "Are you going to pull it out?" she asked, turning her eyes to the blood-soaked, impromptu missile that protruded from Kathyra's side.

     "Can you heal?" I asked, reviling myself immediately for the stupidity of the question.

     _Fool!_ I cursed myself in my thoughts. _If she could, then Rylie would have been tended to long before now._

     "I...I had but a year's instruction." Kestrel's self-loathing rang clear in her tone. "No time to learn the finer arts."

     "Then, no. It will remain where it is." I shook my head, beginning to layer bandaging around the offending projectile, holding it in place so that it would not shift and do further damage. "She needs a skilled surgeon and a mage-healer as well. If I pull this out, it will leave splinters in the wound. Without a healer to stay the bleeding, she would bleed out before the splinters could be removed...and if they are not removed, the wound will fester and lead to a potentially fatal infection."

     "You are...skilled in this." Kathyra smiled, her bloodless lips making the gesture almost gruesome.

     I continued securing bandages around the wound, wincing as the blood slowly leaking from the injury stained them. "I have played healer's assistant far more times than I care to own." I muttered, grim. "No more talking," I warned the physician, "you _must_ conserve your strength and not risk any sort of movement."

     "Leliana," Kestrel jerked my attention away from Kathyra's eerie, almost fatalistic calm. "Leliana, please. Whatever spell caused this injury, it's...it's not letting the blood flow stop. She's still bleeding."

     _Maker's blood-soaked breath!_

     I went to Rylie's side and gently moved Kestrel's desperate, bloody hands off of the wound. I pulled the bandages away, cursing as they came away clean, with none of the sticky resistance that clotted blood would create. The injury to the young woman's body still looked fresh, seeping blood at an alarming rate.

     "This is the spell at work?" I asked, attempting direct pressure with my hands, but it availed nothing.

     Kestrel rubbed sweat from her brow, leaving gruesome streaks of crimson. "That is all I can assume." her shoulders slumped in desperation. "That or I truly am useless."

     " _Stop. That. This. Instant._ " I hissed, wrenching her eyes to mine. "You have to cauterize the wound. Now."

     Kestrel blanched. "We...we have no fire. No irons. How...how am I to manage this?"

     "Your hand." I answered, hating to put the young woman through such an ordeal, but knowing that this action was necessary to save a life. "I have seen you conjure flames. You must do so again if you wish to save her."

     "I...is there no other way?" she asked, desperate for a less torturous method.

     I shook my head, grim. "The spell she was struck with should have been negated with the death of the one who cast it. Perhaps, because it was an abomination, a demon full, the spell is still in effect. This might be your only chance. Kestrel, if the bleeding does not stop, and _soon_ , Rylie _will die_."

     The harshness of the words spurred the young templar into action. I cut Rylie's shirt completely away, baring her skin and pressing hard on both of her shoulders. I directed Kestrel to straddle her hips to prevent Rylie's movement, should the pain from the burning jar her into awareness. I had seen it happen before.

     Kestrel bit her lip, closing her eyes as she focused her magic into her fingertips. I watched the flame grow, glimmering from orange to blue to a white, searing heat. Kestrel's eyes opened and she gazed at Rylie with a tenderness that nearly made me weep, for I had seen that tenderness before. In the eyes of my warden when she looked upon me...it was an expression filled with the truth of love, and it broke my heart that this must happen between these two women...so young...so full of life.

     "Forgive me, sweet girl." Kestrel whispered, then pressed her glowing fingertips against the gash in Rylie's skin.

     The vile, rank stench of burning skin filled the cabin as Kestrel continued the cauterization, following the line of the injury from Rylie's hip to her shoulder. Rylie jerked beneath my hands and her black eyes flashed open, hazed with confusion and agony. Her lips parted in panting, jerking gasps and a harsh wail of anguish ripped out of her throat.

     "Hush, love." Kestrel whispered, tears spilling from her tortured green eyes. "It is nearly done, I promise."

     Rylie's eyes pinched tight, soft moans and whimpers slipping between her gritted teeth as Kestrel finished the horrible necessity. The mage-templar rose and staggered to the edge of the room, slumping against the wall, clutching her abdomen and breathing heavily, battling nausea. I cleared my senses and reached for Kathyra's bag, rummaging through the various vials and jars until I found a container whose scent reminded me of Wynne's burn salve. I had to trust my instincts in this moment, for the one who could help me lay wounded, and needed all of her energy to simply continue to breathe.

     I opened the jar and spread the salve on the garish burn across Rylie's chest. Her eyes opened once more as the cooling effect of the salve took hold; her gaze roving the room with frenetic movements until her eyes lit on Kestrel.

     "Kes..." she whimpered, her voice weak and scratchy, "Kes...need you."

     The mage-templar pushed away from the wall and collapsed to her knees by Rylie's side. "I'm here, Rylie." her hand smoothed Rylie's sweat-soaked curls away from her face with a tenderness unmatched.

     "You're...all right?" Rylie lifted a weak hand to Kestrel's face.

     _Ancient gods,_ I fought down tears yet again as I rinsed my hands in a bowl of salt water that Bronson had brought in. _Salem...Salem's first concern was always for others, no matter the grievousness of her own injuries. Please be alive, my warden. I need you to be alive...I simply...I need...I **need you. **_

"I'm fine, sweet girl." Kestrel assured her friend, her love, and set her hand down. "Do not tax yourself. Please rest."

     "Kestrel," necessity forced me to break the tender moment. "I need you to lift her. I have to bandage the wound."

     Alarm fired anew in the mage-Templar's eyes as she looked up at me. "Did...did it work? Did the bleeding stop?"

     "Yes." I attempted a smile, imagining it must look terribly out of place. "Take her shoulders and prop her up."

     Kestrel followed my instructions and, with as much haste and gentleness as my exhausted, trembling hands would allow, I wrapped bandages around her chest in hopes to prevent the wound from breaking open and to guard against infection. I did not know if it would work, but it was all that I could do. All that I could do would not be enough, that had never before been clearer.

     _These conditions are far from sterile, and my estimation of our arrival in Amaranthine was optimistic at best. There is an immense chance that, by the time we make port, Kathyra and Rylie both will not only be injured, but also gravely ill. Maker preserve us now...for I have done all that I can._

     Kestrel lowered Rylie back down, easing a pillow beneath her head. I turned my attention to the pile of bedding that one of the sailors had brought in, along with a water barrel. Sergeant Alan had ordered such things when I commandeered the empty cabin as a makeshift infirmary. Ignoring the supplies for now, I handed my waterskin to Kestrel.

     "She has lost a dangerous amount of blood. Have Rylie drink as much as possible while she remains conscious." I ordered, rising to my feet and gathering blankets in my arms, laying them over both of the injured women, leaving the material clear of the projectile in Kathyra's side so that the blanket would not catch on the wood and do further damage.

     I pulled a cup from Kathyra's bag and filled it from the water barrel, searching through the physician's packets of dried herbs until I smelled elfroot. I mixed it into the water and knelt beside Kathyra, pressing my palm against her cheek.

     "Still with me?" I asked, feeling relieved when her eyelids fluttered.

     She blinked in lieu of a nod and I smoothed her hair back from her too-pale face. I cradled her head in my  hand and lifted it, holding the cup to her lips. "Drink." I urged her. "It will ease the pain and help you sleep."

     "I...know." she managed a weak grin and I smiled at the unexpected humor as she drank in slow, careful sips.

     "Hush, you fool." I set the cup aside and lowered her head back down.

     Her hand reached up and took mine, a weak whisper of skin on skin, enough contact to ensure she was alive. "You...continue...to amaze." she breathed as her eyelids fluttered closed. "No one...heals...the physician."

     Tears welled in my eyes as I squeezed her hand and returned it to the ground. "You'll be fine." I spoke to hope, that timid, struggling fire inside my spirit that needed strength and encouragement.

     "You should have someone look after you." Kestrel smoke, her low voice even deeper, pressed by stress and fatigue and worry. "Those splinters look nasty."

     "They will keep." I rose on trembling legs and lifted Kathyra's bag. "I need to look after the rest of the crew. I will be as expedient as possible, and when I return you _will_ sleep for a little while."

     Kestrel shook her head. "I am fine." she asserted.

     My lips pursed as I remembered those stubborn words from between my lips when Salem was injured and my guilt and my fear drove me to disregard my own health in favor of hers. But there had been others, wise and kind, who had dissuaded me, kept me sane, kept me alive; kept me from splintering into incoherent pieces.

     "You are not." I spoke, blatant and brusque. "Rylie will need you at full strength later. Wash the blood from your hands, drink something, eat something if you can manage it, and when I return, you _must_ rest."

     "And you?" Kestrel challenged me. "When will you rest?"

     "When I can no longer keep my eyes open." I replied, leaving the cabin and preventing further argument.

     I reached the hallway and paused, pressing my forehead against the wall, using all of my strength to remain standing. _Salem,_ I whispered to the woman who had carried me through hell, _lend me your strength. Please, my love, wherever you may be, alive or dead, I need you here, with me, giving me guidance, easing the furor in my soul, calming the beat of my heart._

     In that moment, warmth stole over me, my breathing eased, the pain from the slight lacerations on my skin faded and I felt that, somehow, my warden and I were intertwined with our needs and longings, creating a bond that could reach across land, sea, and time itself.

     _Even if she is gone,_ I basked in the unexpected, intangible comfort, _she is still with me. I live, she lives,_ assurances from times past bolstered me, _that is the simplicity of it. But what I would not give...for one more moment...wrapped in the security of her arms._


	75. Civility and Shouting

**Salem**

     I dropped the Architect's journal and rubbed my aching eyes. Nothing else that it had written illuminated any further information. The one thing I gleaned from the book had served...served but to case me more pain, to hammer in a terrible truth that needed no further acknowledgement. I woke every day knowing it, feeling it, grasping it, and understanding it...still, it was another matter, a new feeling entirely, to see it in the written word.

     _I should be dead. That...that is all that there is to this. That is the sum of a life lived...a life that goes on, in spite of all evidence that it should be otherwise._

     A soft, timid knock distracted me from my thoughts, and I sighed.

     "Enter."

     I rose from my seat and turned, shocked to see none other than Nathaniel Howe standing before me. "I...I asked of your whereabouts from Seneschal Varel." he informed me. "I hope I am not disturbing your work. The seneschal was quite adamant that you not be bothered but this...it might be considered a matter of grave importance."

     _When is it not...but...but he is being civil? Perhaps it is important, if there is no outright disgust stamped on his features._ I remained silent for a moment, attempting to process his tone, and the vague note of respect I could detect there.

     "What has happened?" I asked, moving out from behind the chair, attempting to remember what had been done with my swords. I felt I might need them.

     "The mage..." Nathaniel cleared his throat. "The mage saw fit to wake Velanna. We had intended to wait for you, but you were injured, and the ceremony took place today and..."

     "And you did not seek Oghren's counsel?" I asked.

     Nathaniel frowned, but a glimmer of what might have been amusement lit in his eyes. "By the time we found him, he was too far in his cups to form a cogent sentence."

     "Ah." I smiled. "Should I expect more walking trees?" I attempted to lighten the mood. "Vines and roots destroying the Keep?"

     "Nothing so dire as that." Nathaniel answered, standing aside as I exited my office. "She awoke, and after Anders made her aware of the circumstances, she began to ply us with questions about the wardens. In truth, we know little, but between the lore we have amassed, Velanna...she desires to become a Grey Warden."

     "I would have thought that, having seen us in action, she would want nothing to do with us any further." I muttered, awash in my own dark thoughts, for there were none present to wrest me from them.

     "Are you mad?" Nathaniel asked, grasping my shoulder, effectively halting me. He turned me to face him and I examined his eyes for hatred, mockery, disdain...none were there. "Cousland...you brought down a dragon! _After_ it flung you into a wall and _cracked your skull!_ If that is not enough glory and grit to recruit...then the order is doomed."

     _Have I...impressed him?_

     "I failed her still." I said.

      "Maker's fucking spitballs, Cousland!" Nathaniel exclaimed. "I've no idea what transpired during the Blight, but if you persisted in turning every victory into a defeat as you are doing now, I am surprised that you triumphed at all!"

     "If vanquishing an enemy serves as a consummate victory then, by all counts, I have _never_ lost a battle." I answered, feeling anger surge in my veins. "But what manner of victory is it when the enemy is dead and the living still suffer? If you think the work is done with the last foe lies dying then you are _sorely_ mistaken, Nathaniel."

     His eyes widened with shock as my words struck home. "This...this is no warden tenet, is it?"

     "No." I replied. "This is the blood-soaked, terrible truth that the world and wardens both see fit to ignore. I have killed, Nathaniel. I have massacred. And life and times dictated that I move forward and leave what remained behind. I...I do what I can to mitigate the suffering, to help those who remain behind. And every lack of success guts me as surely as an enemy's blade, so keenly do I realized my own failures. The living _must_ be the concern of the warrior, the soldier, the general...or the death means _nothing_."

     "That is a nonsensical notion, Cousland." Nathaniel's arrogance returned. "A warrior trains to be a weapon, strictly to kill, because in the killing of the enemy, the living are protected."

     "So Loghain's retreat at Ostagar was conscionable?" I asked. "I should have merely come to Amaranthine and defeated the darkspawn, leaving the wounded villagers and the homeless to fend for themselves? Is _that_ what I should have done, Nathaniel!? Is this the leader your father was!? Is this the leader you would _be!?_ "

     "I do not understand you, Cousland!" Nathaniel's own temper flared. "You _murdered_ my father! You _stole_ my inheritance! And yet you can stand here and _moralize_ about the duties of a true warrior, when what you truly describe is nothing but an archaic tale from aches past! _This_ is a _new_ Age; a _new_ time, and it calls for _men_ with steel in their spine, who are willing to _accept_ the difficult decisions! Men like Loghain Mac Tir! Men. Like. My. Father!"

     "It calls for men." my voice lowered as rage settled deep in my but. "This age calls for men like Rendon Howe? Is this truly as the world believes? What time am I in, when callousness comprises heroism..." I looked into Nathaniel's grey eyes. They roared with anger, screamed with triumph, believing that though he had not killed me with a blade, he had certainly wounded my soul. "Thank you, Nathaniel." I said, and the fire in his eyes melted to shock. "You have but proven to me what I knew already. Please, tell Velanna to meet me in my office in half a candlemark. I must prepare for her Joining..."

     "Cousland..." Nathaniel spoke, "...I do not _fucking_ understand you."

     "Then it is best Velanna becomes a warden, sooner as opposed to the alternative." I quipped. "I well imagine her actions to this point have proven she has the steeled spine _necessary_ for this Age. Get out of my sight."

     I re-entered my office and opened the locked cabinet, retrieving the ampoules of blood and lyrium vials requisite for the Joining. My gaze lingered on the glass bottle containing the blood of the archdemon. I plucked it from the shelf and shattered it on the ground, watching in grim satisfaction as the acidic blood melted the stone.

     _Father,_ I reached out with my mind, wishing for Bryce Cousland's wisdom and understanding, _what have I done wrong? How did I come to exist in this Age where men value heartlessness and brutality above justice and mercy? How do I walk among people who have lost their kindness, their compassion, the human will that longs for **peace**? How can I still breathe in this world that has forsaken love? And how...father, how...in the midst of this, am I still willing to cling to what you taught me? _

     My eyes remain fixated on the melting. I had destroyed the archdemon's blood...so that Velanna might have more time than I had been given. So that she would have further years to search for her sister and a cure for the taint...to breathe in deep of the air and to value her existence, to perhaps relinquish her heart in love's torrid embrace. All men and woman of all races and creeds deserved a chance to live a life fulfilled, a life where they might one day find and experience happiness. That was the world I believed in...the world I fought for.

     _But why do I continue to fight?_ I asked myself. _Why, when it would be so much easier...to let the world simply burn._


	76. Captain Cousland

**Leliana**

     _The stars are out,_ I rolled my shoulders and twisted my neck from side to side, trying to let the vast, wide, sparkling night sky infuse me with its inherent peace. _So bright and beautiful, so at ease that nothing can dim their radiance. Would that I could join them there, at peace, free, unworried and_ _unmolested...if but for a moment._

     "I spoke to the ship's captain not long ago." Sergeant Alan approached me. "Says we're making good headway. If the wind keeps, we'll make point at midday."

     _Thank you, Maker._

     I turned to the sergeant, who extended a cup to me. I took it, inhaling the scent of warm wine and allowing the steam rising to soothe my wind-chapped nose. I took a sip and my eyes closed in relief as the subtle burn of the alcohol eased the rawness in my throat. I raised the cup in silent toast to him and thanks. Alan nodded.

     "The wine is a bit of a forward payment, Seeker." The horror of the day made his gruff voice softer. "Your kind doesn't often mingle with mine, but...but my men need to know. Private Rylie...is she going to make it?"

     "I am afraid not all news is so optimistic as the captain's." I spoke, soft, not wishing the wind to carry our conversation to those who might hear and spread the news. Should that happen, the risk was too high that, through the re-telling, the truth would be lost.

     "No disrespect, ma'am, but I need news. The goodness of it matters little to me."

     I smiled at the templar sergeant, steeling myself. "Private Rylie is still suffering the effects of massive blood loss. Her wound required cauterizing in order to stop the bleeding, and the risk of infection after cauterizing a wound is quite high. She is slipping in and out of consciousness, barely coherent, and her heart is beating much too fast for my comfort. Should her heart give out..." I remembered Salem's body pierced with Wynne's lightning... _the horrid, heartbreaking screams._ "There would be little I could do to prevent her death."

     _I have no idea of knowing if Kestrel could perform as Wynne did, should that situation arrive. Wynne was well-versed in healing and possessed impeccable control...Kestrel is distraught and in a fragile frame of mind. If she should be forced to hurt Rylie again, even to save her life, she might never recover from the trauma done to her mind._

     "Damn." Sergeant Alan muttered, shaking his head. "Damn it all. And the lieutenant? What are her chances."

     "Kathyra..." I trailed off, remembering the look of pain stamped across her face and in her eyes, "...I do not...in all honesty, sergeant, it is quite grim. We were not able to remove the piece of the mast from her side. The bleeding from the wound is minimal, but I believe her lung might have sustained damage. She has been coughing blood for a candlemark now..." Sergeant Alan's face fell. "...I am torn between sedating her in order to ease her pain, or keeping her awake in an attempt to save her from drowning in her own blood. However, if she is awake, the coughing does naught but jolt the wood in her side, causing further internal damage. Already the wound is showing signs of infection, and she has spiked a fever." I shook my head, drained the wine, and wrapped my arms about myself in the coldest of comfort. "Kathyra is dying, sergeant."

     "Maker's bloody handprint." Alan cursed. "I've been in service twenty years, ma'am...the lieutenant's the sole Seeker living who's worth a damn. She was the _only_ one who would ever stand up to Cassandra...well," he let out a defeated, bitter laugh, "until you came along that is. Forgive me my lack of faith, but I am doubting the Maker's grace right about now. Rylie's a good girl, stubborn, hard-headed, but she's got the makings of a damn fine templar. Doesn't seem right that Cassandra walked away with nary a scratch while two good women are fighting for their lives."

     "You are in good company, sergeant." I assured him. "I, of all assembled, will not fault you for your doubts."

     Alan's head jerked with a breathy scoff. "I reckon I'll go inform my men. If there is anything you need, Captain Cousland, do not hesitate to ask."

     Alan turned but I placed my hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Captain Cousland?" I questioned.

     He chuckled. "It sprung up during conversation." he explained. "The troops and sailors talking...one of my boys saw you knock down the Right Hand and then tell the ship's captain, in no uncertain terms, where we were going and why, and to jump high and smart. Then...taking care of our wounded...you're a damn hero, ma'am, in their ledgers as well as mine."

     I laughed, enjoying the camaraderie of soldiers in hard times, for it felt comfortable and familiar to me. "Captain Cousland." I smiled. "It does have a certain ring. However, it would be prudent to keep the knowledge of my...promotion...from Cassandra."

     "It would be at that." Sergeant Alan winked. "Speaking of her Royal Unpleasantness, have you heard any stirrings from the hold?"

     "Mercifully, no." I replied. "If she does wake, fetch me immediately. I will have no one bear her wrath but myself."

     "That's a wish in the wind, ma'am." Sergeant Alan frowned. "Like as not we'll all go to courts martial for following your orders instead of hers."

     "There are enough demons in this world. We need not cede our humanity for a supposed and oft dogmatic 'greater good'. If it comes to courts martial, as you say," I replied, feeling steel flow through my veins, "then it will be my knife in her neck and all souls aboard this ship corroborating my story of the Right Hand's unfortunate demise as she valiantly defended us from a surprise attack."

     The templar's eyes widened with apprehension as he saw a face none had seen in a great while...the Nightingale whispering the sanguine song of darkness.

     "You are...no natural woman." Alan nodded. "And, right now, that's who we need at the helm. Should you require anything, Captain Cousland, I'm your man."

     "Thank you, sergeant." I called after him as he vanished below decks to relay the news to his squad.

     I followed his exit, moving further down the hallway and entering the makeshift infirmary. The scent of blood and sweat hung thick in the air and I swallowed down my own desperation, forcing myself to keep strong.

     Kestrel sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the wall, Rylie's head pillowed in her lap. Thin, nimble thief's fingers combed through the injured templar's hair in an idle, soothing motion. My lips trembled as I remembered the many nights where I had cradled Salem in my arms and prayed for her injuries to heal. I wished that I could simply extend my hand to Kestrel and allow her to see that she did not suffer alone; that others had been where now she stood. I could not, however, and did not trust my words to have any clarity due to my exhaustion.

     "How is she?" I asked.

     "She's so cold." Kestrel's voice rang low with worry, rough with what I felt certain were tears shed in silence. "But I...I think she's sleeping now."

     "Her heartbeat?" I continued questioning, attempting to remain clinical, calm, to not fall to my knees and beg the Maker for the lives of these two women.

     In the short time I had known them, they exuded life, vigor, and faith. They did not deserve to lose their lives because another woman with greater power set the parameters of this mission. I had seen this sort of thing much more than I ever desired to...the strong dying at the order of those weaker than they.

     Kestrel pressed two forefingers to Rylie's neck, feeling the pulse point there. "Too fast." she muttered, angry, as though it were her fault. "Inconsistent. Damn it." she leaned back against the wall and her head struck with a dull thud of frustration. "I should be able to...to _do_ something. To _help_ her. What good is my magic if I cannot end her pain?"

     I soaked a cloth in water and knelt beside Kathyra, wiping the sweat from her brow and the blood from her lips, grateful that her temperature had not risen further. Her eyes were closed, so I did not attempt to wake her, desiring to spare her the pain of returning to consciousness and increasing the risk of further internal injury.

     "You _are_ helping her, Kestrel." I replied, sitting beside Kathyra and relaxing against the wall, powerless to do anything at all.

     "I am not a child, Leliana." her voice harshened. "You needn't coddle me with words of comfort in attempt to soothe."

     I smiled at her ferocity. "Not my intent in the least." I informed her. "I speak from experience, dear girl. After the battle for Denerim, when the archdemon had been slain, my wife, Salem, lay on the brink of death." I revisited the difficult memory, hoping I could impart some comfort to the young woman who sat near me in such obvious anguish. "I took two arrows in the final battle, and, when I awoke, I had no knowledge of her condition, or even if she had survived. The healer mage who traveled with us, Wynne, came to me soon after I regained consciousness, and all but dragged me to where Salem lay. Wynne told me then, in no uncertain terms, that the woman I loved was dying. Salem...she does not respond well to healing magic. And I knew, when I entered her room, that I was going to lose her." Silent tears of my own streamed down my cheeks and dripped from my nose as I relived that hell.

     "And?" a single, breathy question.

     "I entered the room and took Salem's hand." I whispered. "The mages were astonished when her breathing evened and her temperature dropped, for they desired to refuse me entry to the sickroom. When this happened, they inquired of Wynne what was transpiring, and she spoke words that will stay with me for an eternity. She said, 'This is ancient magic, child. Older than the gods themselves...and far, far more powerful'."

     Kestrel turned her eyes to mine, bloodshot with exhaustion and red-rimmed with tears. "What magic?" she asked. "Are you...are you a mage as well?"

     "No." I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Wynne spoke of the oldest magic in existence. It is love, Kestrel. It has more power to heal than any training can provide or than any spell can muster."

     "She...I don't know...I do not think...I do not think she loves me, Leliana, in spite of how I feel for her." Kestrel wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

     "I believe she does." I told her, gentle. "And I know you love her. Hold to that. Become her tether to the waking world. Trust. Keep faith. And, for the love of the Maker, _rest_."

     "I slept earlier." Kestrel shook her head, vehement in her resolve. "I...I do not want her to be alone when she wakes."

     "I will be here." I reached out and squeezed Kestrel's hand. "You need not worry."

     "The exhausted girl's eyelids fluttered closed. "What...'bout...you?" she mumbled, showing me the depth of her heart.

     "Do not concern yourself for me." I borrowed Salem's words. "I'll collapse later."


	77. Desperation of a Broken Thing

**Salem**

     I sat at my desk, head in my hands, staring at the swirling potion below me, the lyrium and darkspawn blood intertwining with each other in an increasingly sickening dance. It was all that I despised. Every part of my life that I now loathed.

     _Equal parts light and darkness...ancient magic...taking of the evil to kill the evil. This is not the world that was intended. How did mankind become so desperate in their search for the Golden City that they sought to usurp the Maker himself? How innately **depraved** are we that we brought this hell upon ourselves?_

     The door opened and Velanna slipped inside, her face pale, eyes fierce, white-gold hair in soft, fine waves just below her shoulders. I lifted my head from my hands. 

     "I am told that you wish to join the wardens." I spoke, breaking the silence when she did not.

     "I want to find my sister. The shemlen mage said that the creature, like as not, has vanished into the Deep Roads. If wardens can, in truth, sense the beasts, I want that ability. I _need_ that ability."

     "I understand." I sighed and used the desk to lever myself upright. "You do realize, Velanna...this potion is a death sentence. Either you will die tonight, or you will perish from the taint as it overtakes you."

     "I am not _ignorant_ , warden." Velanna scoffed. "Even the Dalish have tales of your order, and tales of our own people within it."

     "Be that as it may..." _choose **life,** Velanna! Choose. Life._ "...you could continue to search for your sister in the normal manner."

     "Have you ever loved another, Warden Cousland? Family, friend, lover?" she asked, flaying my soul, causing the ache of Leliana's absence to thrum into a gnawing anguish in my heart.

    Red hot daggers drove themselves into my heart over and again. "I have died from love." I whispered, and the elf's eyes sparked.

     _She knows,_ I realized _. She knows what it is to be torn away from all that was life, all that was reason, all that was p_ _urpose. She has seen those she loved torn from her in blood and fire and when she had hope...when she could see again the object of her love...fate intervened and stole it from her. She is...she is me...she understands what I have not spoken. She feels what we cannot name, so powerful is its darkness._

     The flames leapt higher in the hearth, casting a warm glow throughout the room. Velanna's eyes met mine, a tormented, tempest-tossed grey to a death-drenched, soul weary blue. Our losses echoed between us, a vast chasm of heartache and spirits soaked with tears. The blood on our hands magnetized, drawing us closer, step by hesitant step as the voiceless, keening wail of a kindred longing echoed in non-hearing.

     _I remember this..._

     The elf was so close now, so very close, smelling of forest and sunlight and smoke. She looked up at me, pleading.

     "Please." she breathed, breaking the almost intimate silence. "I can sense it in you as surely as you sense it within me. Need. Longing. A pain so deep...Salem, please. It need not mean anything."

     I reached out with trembling hands, tangling my fingers in the glossy, silken tresses of her hair. A shiver ran though her and she stepped in closer, leaving a hairsbreadth between us.

     _To let go,_ I thought as my breath hitched in my throat, as my heart began to race. _For a meanin_ _gless night. To find long absent comfort in one who knows as I know, who grieves as I grieve...grieving for the one that is lost and may never be returned. Yes...ancient gods damn me...yes._

     I leaned down as Velanna surged upwards, her lips crushing against mine with fury. The kiss held no intimacy as we battled with lips, teeth, and tongue until the both of us tasted blood. I attempted to pull away, but her deceptively strong hand slipped around my neck, pulling my hair, drawing me towards her.

     "No," she growled, the timbre of her voice hollow and rough.

     _This is_...I reached for the loose shirt she wore and tore it open, gasping when I saw she wore no breastband; savoring the living flesh beneath my fingers... _wrong._

     Velanna shuddered and pressed against me, her hands finding their way beneath my shirt, roving over my skin with an indelicate, animalistic touch. She kneaded her hands along my sides as our lips continued in a battle for dominance, a frantic, frenetic attempt to bury the pain that could not be silenced. I raked my fingernails down her back and she broke from the kiss, panting, moaning as I clawed deeper into her skin, attempting to tear her sorrow from her.

     She lifted my shirt and her mouth caught my breast, tongue massaging, teeth tormenting as she nipped and laved, drawing unwanted gasps from my body. She bid down and I cried out, bringing my mouth to her neck, savaging the skin, feeling the constricting of her muscles beneath my teeth.

     Deft, practiced, I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of her trousers, running my fingers through the downy hair, across and over her slick, swollen sex.

     Velanna's body went rigid beneath my touch and she buried her head in my chest. "Creators, yes..." I continued my torturing strokes, promising her heaven, promising relief, promising a brief, _necessary_ cessation of pain. "Please..." she moaned, "...Salem... _please_."

     I pressed my fingertips against her entrance, tempting her, torturing her. Her hand gripped mine and she squeezed, pinching my flesh against metal. The wings of the nightingale ring carved into my fingers and pain speared into my heart, so hard and harsh that I pushed Velanna away and staggered back. I panted in despair, arousal, and abject horror.

     "Get dressed." I ordered through heavy breaths, my soul shredding as I realized what I had nearly done.

     _Leliana...I betrayed you...trying to run...trying to hide...in so much pain that I would have sold my soul for a few moments of relief._

     "Are you mad!?" Velanna screamed. "Do not look at me like that, warden! Do not look at me with _shame_ in your eyes! You wanted me! I wanted you! It would have meant _**nothing!"**_

     I lifted her torn shirt from the floor and flung it at her. "Get out." I rasped.

     "No!" she shouted, coming closer. "You damnable fucking _shem_! How dare you!? A simple exchange! One night of two grieving souls giving each other a moment of _bloody **peace!"**_

     "It is not mine to give!" I wrapped my arms around myself as my heart burned and the pounding headache became a maelstrom of agony. "Damn me into _hell_ , Velanna, it...I...I am not mine...I cannot...cannot give you the relief you seek."

     Velanna threw her shirt around her shoulders and stalked to my desk, lifting the goblet of darkspawn blood. "Perhaps this will then."

     "Velanna, no!" I shouted, but she tipped the goblet up and drank the potion.

     The cup clattered to the ground, her eyes went white, and she collapsed. I caught her before she fell to the stone floor, cradling her in my arms and brushing her hair from her face. fiery tears spilled from my eyes, streaking down my cheeks and dripping onto Velanna's skin. I waited for agonizing moments, listening as her breathing faltered, faded, and resurged.

     _I am sorry, Velanna. This should never have happened...not this Joining...not what..._

     I lifted her in my arms and laid her on the couch in the back of the room, pulling a blanket from the nearby shelf and covering her with it. I limped to the door and flung it open, stumbling out into the hallway, almost colliding with Varel.

     "Salem, are you well?" he asked. "I heard the Dalish mage was to join the wardens...Maker's blood...is she..."

     "She's alive." I managed to steady my voice. "Please, Varel...can you care for her?"

     "Of course, my lady." he nodded, entering my office.

     Using the wall to support myself, I staggered to my chambers, collapsing to my knees and fighting down the bile that rose in my throat. I stood on shaky legs and walked to the bureau, pouring water into a washbasin and scrubbing my hands until they were red and raw and painful. They smelled like Velanna. I did not want to breathe.

     I could not stop the tears that burned against my skin like a thousand poisoned daggers. I glared at the ring on my finger, the beautiful nightingale in flight, the sign of the other half of my soul...the woman I had betrayed.

     _I do not deserve this ring,_ I curled my fingers and drove my fist into the wall, damaging the hand that bore the evidence of my love...and the reason for my life. _I do not deserve her promise. She has done nothing, **nothing** to deserve this...her absence is no excuse...she will...she will **never** forgive me. I am worse...I am worse than Marjolaine...worse than the bitch that had her tortured...there is no forgiveness for this. I am not worthy enough to even ask it._

     I struck the wall again, splitting my skin as I had split my soul. Blood oozed from the torn fleshed and I cradled my hand to my chest as I collapsed onto my bed, curling into myself like a small child and shivering as though with fever. I buried my face in the pillow and screamed my anguish until my throat was burned.

     _Let me never speak again...not words of love or comfort...I am worthy of nothing. Maker, let me die. Let me die, and let her grieve that death...so that she will not have her heart ripped apart yet again...by the one who claimed to love her. Please, if you are a kind god...kill me now._


	78. Maiming the Right Hand

**Leliana**

     "You...look...so tired." Kathyra's fever bright eyes watered as they attempted to focus on me. 

     "I am quite well." I assured her, holding a cup to her lips. "Drink."

     Her eyelids narrowed and I smiled at her suspicion. It appeared the dislike and suspicion of sleeping drafts was a mutual sentiment. Of course, if she had given me the truth of her past, and the shade of her eyes did not lie, that suspicion would be _natural_.

     "Willow bark." I assured her. "For your fever. Nothing more, I swear it."

     "Not too much..." she began to warn, but I pressed a finger across her lips.

     "Or it will thin the blood. I know."

     Kathyra drank in careful sips, wincing at the bitter taste. I lowered her head back to the pillow and tucked her lank, sweat-soaked hair behind her ear.

     "You are...so kind." she spoke, hoarse. Her lungs rattled when she breathed, and she coughed, a markedly weaker than the last time she had awoken. "Thank you...Leliana."

     "Thank nothing of it." I soaked a strip of bandaging in a bucket of water, wringing excess moisture from it and wiping the sweat from her brow. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

     "Beyond mere pain...now." she grinned. "I...I'm afraid to sleep. Seems...harder...harder to open my eyes." Kathyra moved her head, slow. Her eyes glanced over to where Kestrel and Rylie slept, the wounded girl protected in the arms of the mage-templar. "How," she licked her chapped lips, "is she?"

     "Very weak." I answered, touched by the physician's concern, especially given her condition, for others. _So very different from Marjolaine. I can scarce believe that they shared blood._ "And her temperature is higher than I would like, but I believe, if we make port in time, she will make a full recovery."

     "Good." Kathyra breathed. "I...I do not think...I shall be so blessed."

     "Nonsense." I threaded my fingers through hers and applied a light, comforting pressure through our hands. "You will be fine."

     _I cannot lose you,_ my every thought was a prayer. _Not to this madness that Cassandra brought upon us. There is true compassion in you, Kathyra, a compassion and kindness that is not at all in keeping with the life you have led. Such a light...should not be extinguished._

     Kathyra's lips parted in a breathless laugh. It turned into a wracking cough and I took her by the shoulders, lifting her slightly, biting my lip as her body trembled and the wooden spike pressed deeper, causing her to gasp in pain. The spasm eased and blood slipped down her chin as she breathed in ragged, labored gasps.

     I eased her back down and wiped the blood from her lips and skin, loathing the heat that radiated from her body. "You're all right." I soothed. "I've got you."

     "S...sorry." she grimaced.

     "Hush." I cooled her brow again. "No need to apologize."

     "H...hard to breathe." she shifted and winced, biting her lip as pain crossed her features. "Might I...ask a favor of you?"

     "Of course." I tucked the blanket around her, attempting to make her more comfortable.

     "Will...will you cry for me, Leliana?" she whispered, and my heart broke. Kathyra took a shaking breath. "I...I have no friends," the physician attempted to explain. "No family. No one...who...loves me. I...I do not want...to have meant nothing...when I die. Please." her hand reached up and twisted in my shirt. "Let my life...have some...meaning."

     "Hush now." I removed her hand from my shirt and took it in both of mine. "Kathyra, you are beautiful, you are kind, and you are worthy of love. You have made this madness bearable...you have saved my life many times over. And yes, I will grieve when you die." I leaned down and pressed my lips to her forehead. "But that will not be today."

     Her eyes closed and tears slipped from beneath them. "Thank...you." she whispered, opening her eyes and smiling. "My...sister...was such a fool."

     "Marjolaine did not know me as you do." I told her, gentle, wishing I could strip away the darkness of her thoughts. "And I am grateful that you do not know me as she did. Rest now, Kathyra. The sun will rise soon, and the captain is optimistic about our arrival in Amaranthine at midday. Be strong a little while longer."

     "Will...will you be here when I wake?" she asked, her words slurred with exhaustion.

     "I promise." I smiled.

     The door of the room opened and Sergeant Alan stepped into the room. "Seeker, you are needed in the hold."

     _Seven shades of hell. I had hoped against this._

     "Kathyra," I squeeed her hand, "I've been called away. I will return as soon as I can." I looked to Sergeant Alan. "Stay with her please, and call me if she takes a turn."

     "Of course, Seeker."

     I rose to my feet and found my belt, buckling it about my waist and ensuring that my daggers were in place. I prayed that it would not come to violence as I descended the stairs into the belly of the ship.

     "Get these off of me!" I heard the Nevarran accent, dripping with anger. "I order you to unchain me!"

     I moved into the light of a guttering candle, witnessing a chained Cassandra verbally assault a rigid, tight lipped Bronson. I laid a hand on his crossed arms, feeling the knotted tension in his muscles.

     "Stand at ease, Bronson." I smiled at him and his posture eased. "You are relieved. Go and find something to eat."

     "No!" Cassandra shouted. "You are not relieved until you get these chains _off of me!"_

     "No, ma'am." Bronson's voice shook, even though he looked directly into Cassandra's flaring eyes. "We are no longer following your orders."

     "Get back here you fucking cur!" The Right Hand shouted as Bronson disappeared up the stairs back to the cabins.

     I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms, simply staring at Cassandra. "That is no way to speak to someone under your command." I spoke, calm, wondering if this is how Salem had felt during the Landsmeet.

     _Exhausted. Worried. At reason's end as the insanity persists._

     "What would you know of it?" Cassandra seethed. "You miserable slattern whore! I do not know what manner of vile game you are running, but it is at an end! The penalty for attacking a Seeker of the Chantry is _death!_ "

     I idly examined my nails. "And what is the penalty for murdering a Seeker?"

     Cassandra pulled against the chain that held her. "What in hell are you insinuating?" she hissed.

     "Your order was to sail back to Orlais." I reminded her. "When you could clearly see that one of the templars had been gravely injured, and when a Seeker of the Chantry, a woman _you_ named your _friend_ , lay dying in front of you. Death by neglect is _still_ murder, Cassandra."

     "I should cut out your silvered tongue." Cassandra growled. "But I will do this in the legal manner. You will be charged with mutiny, sedition, and consorting with the abomination who destroyed our ship."

     "You have no friends here, Cassandra." I informed her. "Those who value human life, the _normal, **sane**_ minds, have submitted to my command. You cannot kill us all without being found out."

     "Do you think me without a heart, you soulless harpy!" Cassandra shrieked. "Ren is _dead!_ And K...Kathyra...is...is she..."

     For the briefest of moments, I considered the lie. I considered informing her that the physician had died, to wound Cassandra's heart in hopes to hammer home the cruel reality that might have been the outcome of Cassandra's decision. However, I held my tongue.

     _I am not that person. Not any longer._

     "She still clings to life." I said. "No thanks to you."

     "You have no idea what I have endured!" Cassandra accused. "No knowledge of the burdens upon my shoulders! The unrest among the mages is affecting the world over! In the face of that, I _cannot **selfishly**_ _toss aside my mission for the sake of two lives!_ You will learn, you _wretched_ whelp! Sacrifice is... _necessary_."

     "No, Cassandra." I told her, calm, though anger burned deep within me. "It is you who must learn. No man or woman, no matter their power, title, rank, or station, has the right to sacrifice _anything_ other than themselves. You will learn, Right Hand of Beatrix, the _sacredness_ of life."

     "I _am_ considering the sacredness of life!" Cassandra argued, vehement. "Can your puerile mind even _fathom_ the lives at stake!? Know you nothing of the _weight of the **world**_!?"

     "Maker, you are _stupid_." I pushed off of the wall and moved closer to her. "Do you not remember who I am, Cassandra? Do you not remember what I have done, whose name I wear? Do not think to impress me with your childish prattle about the supposed 'weight of the world'. The woman who ended the Blight, _she_ bore all of Thedas on her back."

     Cassandra laughed, anger and malice and madness. "And you mean to tell me that the great Grey Warden _never_ made a suspect choice? That her duty never superseded her desires? That it never cost lives?"

     "Never if she could avert it." I spoke the truth. "Never if she could pay the cost in her own blood."

     "Your eyes are clouded for love by that _demon_." Cassandra spat the word.

     The anger burning within me churned in my gut and wrath scoured through my veins, but my body was too exhausted to respond. Instead, I withdrew a roll of bandaging from my belt pouch, stepped behind Cassandra and locked my arm around her neck, not listening as she spewed curses and promises of justice.

     I gagged her with the bandaging, tying it securely behind her head. She pulled against the chain that held her as I backed away.

     "We should make port at midday." I informed her. "At that time, you will be released. Until then, in the best interest of the crew and the injured, I will remain in command."

     Cassandra cursed at me behind the gag, and I shook my head. _Infants,_ I sighed, _infants are leading the world. Kathyra has told me of Cassandra's history, that she lost her brother, her family...that she is of noble blood in Nevarra. Bu I have known another...also of noble blood, stripped of family and friends...who led with humility, who gave her blood freely, and who bore the weight of the world with grace._

_In the face of **that** , Cassandra Pentaghast, you are nothing but a fool. A childish, ignorant fool not worthy of the title bestowed on you._

     I left the hold and went back to the infirmary. Sergeant Alan rose and greeted me with worried eyes, afraid for the life of the young woman under his command.

     "It is dealt with, for the moment." I informed him. "Until we make port, no one will speak with or see Cassandra but me. I will not have her attempt to assume command."

     "Yes, ma'am." Sergeant Alan saluted. "I will disseminate the order."

     _Maker, I beg you,_ I prayed, _let us arrive safely...and alive. Give me this. Please. Grant me this._


	79. Old Friends with New Wisdom

**Salem**

     The sun scalded my eyes as it rose in the sky, peering over the walls of the city of Amaranthine. I spurred my horse and shielded my tired, red-rimmed eyes, wondering if there would be anything here to distract me from the aching in my heart. 

     I spent the previous night in my chambers, sleepless, alternating between pacing the floor and contemplating drinking myself into a blissful oblivion. I had abstained from drink, content to flog myself with the what-might-be, imagining confrontation after confrontation, spending the setting of the moon in livid waking nightmares, painting pain across Leliana's beautiful features, conjuring words of spite and recrimination in her voice. As the sun lifted in the ease, I knew I could not stay in the Keep one moment more, with its stifling walls and its inhabitants, all of whom had some manner of grudge to bear against me, all of whom held some reminder of my failure.

     This morning, I left the Keep in Varel's charge and informed him that I would be journeying to Amaranthine, perhaps even remaining the night. When he asked my reasons, I rattled off some placating drabble of seeing the state of the city, inquiring of the merchants and the soldiers, visiting the more gravely wounded from the attack on Vigil's Keep.

     _All lies,_ I sighed as I rode beneath the portcullis. _I have not the heart nor the mind to focus on the affairs of state. Perhaps I never had. In some strange way, it might well have been the Maker's intent to turn me into a Grey Warden, kn_ _owing that I had neither the heart nor the head for politics and governance. Is forcing me into this madness some strange divine invective?_ I asked.

     I steered my horse through the streets of Amaranthine, blinded to the beauty that might have been present. Instead I saw the illicit transactions in the streets, beggars in tattered clothes begging for a copper as they wallowed in the gutter. I gazed into the battered faces of anguished, world-weary whores, the flushed cheeks of drunkards, the weary stoop of the all-too rare decent guardsman, bastions against the increasing influx of indulgence in vice.

     I watched as the wealthy strode from shop to shop, eyes up, unable to fix on those below them because gold built pedestals for men, elevating them, in their own eyes, above the common rabble. Men who served gold...their hearts were darker than pitch, whose souls held no pity. For them, I had no time.

     _This is the world I nearly died to save?_ I wondered, begging some god in some heaven to break their silence. _This is the new Age that Nathaniel spoke of with **pride?** Let men with hardened hearts rule and all the world will be stone...and stone does not feel...and stone does not weep...and stone suffers not for action taken. It is an easy world, is __it not...easy to become depraved, to choose self above all else...as I nearly did yesternight. When I almost gave in to my own pain, my own desires, forgetting the vow that I made to another whose strength surely outstrips mine._

 _When I am gone from this land and time...who will remember the attempts to be fair, kind, and just? Who will remember the mercy? No one. For all that shall matter is the blood on my hands._  

     I looked up as I rode past the Amaranthine Chantry, grimacing at the high spires and colorful banners that signified a place of worship...a place where the impoverished, soul-sick masses could pray to a silent god. A god who had stolen everything from me...twice over.

     "Salem!" a voice called from the high pavilion of the chantry entrance. "Salem Cousland, is that you, child?"

     _I know that voice...but it cannot be. What in hell?_

     I swung out of the saddle, tethered the reins to a post, and dashed up the stairs, nearly falling over from shock. I looked into the kind, watery blue eyes of the woman who had called out to me. Her hands were on her hips and the smile she wore deepened the wrinkles in her skin.

     "Wynne?" I asked, unable to believe that the mage did, in truth, stand before me. "Wynne...is it truly you?"

     The senior enchanter came closer, opening her arms. I stepped forward and clasped her in an embrace. I let time pass as I clung to the woman who had been my healer, my mother, a source of wisdom and comfort when the world went mad around us.

     She stepped back and appraised me, frowning as her weathered hand brushed back my hair, revealing the half-circle of stitches in a sea of deep bruising. "You look exhausted, child." she spoke with such concern I nearly splintered into tears. "And this is a recent injury, if I am any judge. What has happened to you?"

     I shook my head, rendered mute by the sorrow and joy surging through my blood. "So much." At last, I managed to speak. "Oh, Wynne...so much."

     Sensing my need, sensing my brokenness, Wynne folded me in her arms again, whispering reassurances and kind nonsense as I shuddered with silent sobs. "They took her." I whispered, knowing that Wynne would understand; that she would hear what I could not say. "The...the damn Chantry stole her from me and then...then..."

     "I heard." Wynne's hand soothed up and down my back. "I arrived here shortly before the attack on Vigil's Keep. My duties prevented me from going to aid the people, and I do apologize for that, Salem."

     "You..."I realized, withdrawing from her embrace and scrabbling for my composure, "...you helped the wounded who were brought here, didn't you?"

     "Yes." she nodded. "and I was told a Grey Warden arrived and turned the tide of the attack, but none who came here knew who you were. I would have come to you before this, had I known."

     "It is enough that you are here now." I smiled. "But...why _are_ you here, Wynne?"

     "It would appear that your words resonated well with our new king." Wynne took my hand in hers and squeezed, imparting gratitude. "The dear boy has directed that a council of mages, revered mothers, and templars assemble and begin to hammer out a new life for mages in Ferelden. We are to find compromises between our orders in attempt to give the mages of this country a better, more fulfilled existence, further freedoms, lives of our own, perhaps even lives outside the Circle. Irving has many matters to attend to, thus he sent me in his stead."

     _Yes!_ My spirit rejoiced. _Alistair, you beautiful, beautiful man! Thank you. Thank you for not letting your upbringing dissuade you from providing justice, or blind you from seeing that our own people languish in misery. More and more it becomes apparent that you were **beyond** fit to wear the crown. At least, under your leadership, Ferelden will become stronger. Perhaps I have done one good thing with my life. _

     "You've no idea the joy this brings me." I told her.

     Wynne wrapped her arm about my waist and let me to the edge of the balcony, looking out onto the city square.

     "Lean against something." she ordered. "You look dead on your feet. And, tell me what has happened to Leliana." she told me, cutting to the heart of the matter, a skill she had ever possessed.

     "We..." I twisted the ring on my finger, cringing as I remembered what its presence ad dissuaded me from, "...we left Denerim and went to Highever. It was there I found out that she had received a summons to Val Royeaux from the Divine herself. I...I encouraged her to go, but she refused. She stayed, Wynne...she stayed for _me_."

     "What happened then?"

     "We were wed." I looked off into the distance of beautiful memories and happier times. "And we were _happy_. My nightmares faded; my injuries ceased to trouble me as much. Then...then Beatrix's right hand appeared and demanded that Leliana obey the summons. Leliana went with them so that I would do nothing I would later regret. She went so that she and I would not be subjected to the lives of fugitives. She left and I have heard _nothing_ from her, Wynne. No letters, no rumors, and I...I am afraid and heartsick and...it is happening again. Everything I love is being torn from me, and there is nothing I can do."

     "It would seem that life and time conspire against you, child." Wynne rested her hand over mine. "Is there nothing I can do to ease your suffering? Heal your injuries?"

     "It is enough that I can speak to you." I answered. "I am beset by enemies on all sides, Wynne. Oghren is my sole friend in the Keep, the only one who knows my history..."

     "That is cold comfort at best." Wynne pursed her lips, knowing the drunken dwarf all too well. 

     "Indeed." I agreed. "Adding to that, I have a rogue mage who murdered his templar escort, a grief-stricken, revenge-bent Dalish mage, and Rendon Howe's son was captured the night of the attack. He was attempting to recover his family's belongings, his stolen heritage, or so he said."

     "Oh, Salem." Wynne's empathy washed over me, calming, comforting, warm. "However did you manage that situation?"

     "I intended to let him go." I whispered. "But he threatened to kill me if I offered him that level of mercy. So I did the one thing that I could do."

     "You had him executed?" Wynne asked, narrowing her eyelids. 

     "In a manner." I tucked my hair behind my ear. "I conscripted him into the Grey Wardens, as I did with the others. Nathaniel and I have been at each other's throats since that day. I have been called a thief, a murderer...all manner of vile things. And, it would appear that, somewhere, formulating amidst the vassals is a conspiracy to assassinate me. I have not the magnanimity of the former arl when it comes to lining the pockets of the lesser lords. It would seem that incites the wrath of those who are meant to serve under me."

     "All of this you have endured alone?" the healer asked, placing her hand against my scarred cheek, meeting my eyes without fear. 

     "I have not even told you the half of it." I confessed, though I felt lighter in spirit, speaking to one who understood me as none other who had not been part and parcel during the Blight could. "It has...been difficult."

     "I should say." Wynne frowned, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder. "You have ever underplayed your trials, Salem. Have you spoken to Alistair of the unrest here?"

     "No." I shook my head. "Alistair has his own troubles...he must manage an entire country in disrepair. I cannot burden him with trivial matters such as these."

     "Trivial matters?" Wynne asked. "Your life being threatened, your enemies masked as allies...anyone with eyes can see that you are unraveling at the seams."

     I gripped the stone wall until my knuckles turned white. "I can endure it." I claimed, not knowing if I spoke the truth. "I  _must_ endure it. If not me, then who?"

     "Salem, child, this is not the Blight." Wynne reprimanded, gentle. "You are no longer the sole savior of the world. There are those who will aid you, whom you can call upon in times of trial and desperation."

     I turned to face her, tears in my eyes. "Can I?" I asked. "All whom I might ask are more burdened than I. Leliana was meant...we should have...I am more alone now than ever I have been." I whispered.

     Wynne parted her lips to reply when a shout rang out in the city square. "We need aid in the harbor! A Chantry ship has been sighted signaling distress and need for a healer!"

     I heaved a sigh of dismay as the messenger went unanswered by the people in the square. _A ruler's duty is never done._

     I turned to Wynne and managed a smile. "Would you care to join me?" I asked.

     "Like old times?" her eyes lit. "I would have it no other way."

     We descended the stairs and I sought out the messenger. "I am Arlessa Salem Cousland." I informed him and he bowed low. "Take me to the harbor."

     "Yes, milady, right away."


	80. Near and Distant

**Leliana**

     "Is there _nothing_ we can do?" my voice fractured, teetering on the delicate edge of desperation as I stared at our destination that we...we could not seem to reach.

     "Dead in the water, Cap'n Cousland." the ship's captain winked, his jaunty tone completely at odds with the news he delivered. "Got no wind to fill the sails, and them as took this ship jettisoned the life-boats to lighten 'er."

     _Maker's bloods-soaked, **flame-drenched** breath! _I cursed inside my mind, looking towards the shoreline, salvation and deliverance beyond our grasp. "Have you seen any response to our hail for assistance?"

     "The captain shook his head, beard and moustaches limp in the lack of wind. "No, ma'am. There's a crowd gathered, but that's it."

     "We have come so far." I whispered, but I did not speak to the captain, and he knew it. "So far and all for _nothing?_ Maker, please, please help us now."

     Kestrel emerged from below decks, tying her lank hair back, looking at me with exhausted eyes. They were filled with such hope...hope soon to be dashed against the rocks. I lifted my brows, asking my own silent question, and she shook her head. The corners of my mouth turned down. She moved closer to me so that we would not be overheard.

     "Rylie's fever is growing higher. I cannot keep it down." Kestrel's lips trembled. "And...and Lieutenant Kathyra...I don't think she's strong enough to keep breathing much longer."

     "No." I said, emphatic. "We _did not_ endure hell and damnation only to lose her with the end in sight."

     Kestrel looked up at the listless, dangling sails that spelled our end. "I...I could try..."

     "No." I told her, resting my hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension of the muscles beneath her skin. "You've barely slept at all since the attack. I won't have you endangering your own health attempting a feat you are not sure you can perform."

     "I...I want to help." the mage-Templar hung her head, fighting valiantly against the same spirit of defeat that threatened to overwhelm me.

     "I know." I hugged her close, imparting what little comfort I could, looking to the cloudless sky in a prayer, in a hope, in an unfulfilled desire.

     _Please,_ I prayed to the god who had spoken to me, the god who had said she would protect me from harm. _Please, do not forsake us now. Do not let the innocent suffer, punished for the crimes of the proud. Prove to me that you are, in truth, a god of mercy and **love**. _

     The sails seemed to twitch and I blinked, releasing Kestrel from my embrace and scrubbing my eyes. I fixed my gaze on the sails, watching as they did, indeed, begin to fill with a strong breeze. The ship's captain glanced up, then all around, his eyes wide with confusion.

     "What in the blue depths of hell is this?" he asked, before shouting orders to the sailors as they climbed up the rigging and prepared to dock at the Amaranthine port. Where we would find help. Where lives would be saved.

     "Leliana, this wind is mage-made." Kestrel whispered.

     "Are you certain?" I asked. She shook her head in a vehement affirmative.

     "It's not me." she said. "It took an abomination to move this ship into position to attack us. I don't have nearly enough power...no one short of a blood mage would."

     _No blood mage would be willing to aid the Chantry, whose star is on the sails. Whatever manner of divine providence this is, I do not care. I am grateful for it. Thank you, dear Maker. **Thank** you. _

     "Fetch Bronson and whomever else you need to prepare the wounded for transport." I ordered. "Tell Sergeant Alan to free Cassandra. Much as I loathe the notion, I did assure her that she would regain her liberty once we made port."

     "Yes, ma'am." Kestrel flung a salute in my direction as she dashed below decks, revivified by hope.

     I scrambled up the ladder to the crow's nest, startling the lookout yet again, though he smiled at me. I had made good on my promise to him. He would live and see his wife and child again.

     "Spyglass?" I requested, and he handed me the implement with a shaking smile.

     I extended the spyglass to its full length and peered through it, seeing a small crowd gathered in the harbor. Most of them appeared to be sailors or dockworkers, but a singular figure stood out. She wore the red robes of a senior enchanter; her eyes were fixed in concentration and her staff glowed bright blue, aimed at our ship. I could see her white hair, loose and unbound, flying in the wind that she created.

     _Wynne!_

     I shoved the spyglass back into the lookout's hands and raced down the ladder as Bronson and Kestrel emerged, bearing Kathyra on a makeshift stretcher. I fell to my knees beside the injured woman and took her cold, clammy hand in mine, squeezing. In the light of the midday sun, her skin bore the appearance of bleached bone.

     "Be strong a little longer." I begged as the ship's speed increased and the sailors readied the ropes. "The strongest mage in all of Thedas stands in the harbor. I have seen her bring someone back from the threshold of death. You are going to be _fine,_ Kathyra. Just stay with me." I pressed her limp hand against my lips. "Stay with me."

     "I demand to be told what is happening!" I cringed as Cassandra's voice rang out across the deck. Her footsteps drew closer, but I did not move.

     Her grip was a storm as she grasped me by the shoulder and wrenched me to my feet. Her cinnamon eyes flashed with hatred and untold wrath ready to be visited on me. "Cousland!" she bellowed. "Report! Now!"

     "Cass..." Kathyra's weak, blood-choked voice broke the High Seeker's concentration. "...seal...your...lips."

     "Maker." Cassandra looked at the physician, seeming to find herself alarmed by the woman's condition. Her eyes flashed to mine again, igniting with a powerful fury. The strike came so quickly that I could not block it; instead, I felt the stinging pain of flesh against flesh. "How _dare_ you let this happen!?" Cassandra fumed. 'When we dock I am taking you before the Revered Mother of this godforsaken country and you _will_ answer!"

     "What have I done!?" I asked, my cheek stinging from her slap, my mind unable to comprehend her outburst. " _You_ would have let her _die!"_

     "In some way, _this entire **disaster**_ can be laid at your feet!" Cassandra accused me. "How else did the Templars know to don their armor? How else did you know that your bow could strike down the abomination when our swords and counter magics had _no effect!?_ You were attempting to _kill me_ , using the mages as your weapon!"

    "I did no such thing!" I countered, wondering why I bothered with the argument when my friends were in danger. My eyes darted about, seeking support, but all who had followed my orders when Cassandra had been chained now stood aside, too afraid to stand against her.

     _I am too weak to make a stand. If this comes to blows, I will not be able to defend myself for long. I am so tired...so tired...Maker, if you can, offer me another favor now. Another gift. Please._

     "Heresy, trickery, and lies!" Cassandra smiled and it was glaring and it was malice and it was _cruel_. "Look at your loyal crew now, Cousland! Look at how they cower in my presence! They know that I am witness to the truth and that they will suffer when justice is brought to bear!"

     The ship shuddered, knocking us all off-balance as it slide along the edges of the dock. Somewhere, distant in my hearing, I heard the smack of the gangplank being lowered, the rattle of approaching footsteps.

     "You are an insolent child! There is no sanctuary for you here!" Cassandra railed. "You think that because we are in Ferelden, the country you defended in the Blight, that you will be spared the Maker's wrath!?" "

     Her hand rose to strike me again and I turned my cheek to her, anticipating the blow...nothing happened. I looked up, nearly falling to my knees as I saw the hand that held Cassandra's wrist...pale skin, covered with indelicate, spiderwebbing blue scars. Eyes that screamed of death glared at the High Seeker with a rage so great that it could peel flesh. In Cassandra's eyes there lay a flicker of fear...I felt nothing but relief. I was safe here.

     _Salem..._ tears sprang to my eyes and I fell to my knees, watching through blurred vision as Wynne knelt beside Kathyra, the blue glow of healing magic coalescing around her hands.

     Knowing Kathyra would be cared for, I looked up again, nearly unable to believe my eyes as Salem spun Cassandra to face her. A blood-thirsty smile graced my warden's lips, terrifying for its rarity.

     "The Maker's wrath," she spoke, her voice that dangerous calm, "is so very pale," she reached back and drove her fist into Cassandra's gut three times in quick succession, leaving the Right Hand slumped over and heaving, "in comparison to mine."


	81. Wrath and Remorse

**Salem**

     _Leliana..._

I gazed at the woman I loved, the woman who made my heart beat with hope...and I hated myself. I pushed the Right Hand away from me, leaving her gasping and breathless on the deck. I could not control the rage that burned in me like the fury of the sun. Rage against the one who had marked my wife's skin, but...deeper than even that...the loathing of myself for the crimes I had committed against her. So I focused on the object of my wrath, the one whom I could lash out against without breaking my promise...my promise to live above all else.

     "Get up." I snarled as the unarmed and unarmored Seeker clawed at the deck, attempting to rise. "Get up!" I shouted, ignoring the men and women who had gathered around, ignoring the beseeching gaze of my wife.

     "You...fucking...cur." Cassandra gasped as she levered herself to her feet. "I should have known that demon loving _bitch_ would bring us here, into the domain of an abomination!"

     I stepped forward, blocking Cassandra's oncoming fist with my hand as I slammed my own into her jaw. Her had snapped back and her teeth knocked into her lower lip, splitting it. I reached out and laced my hands behind her head, bringing it down as I brought my knee up, smiling in satisfaction as I heard her nose crack. I planted my boot into her chest and kicked, sending her to the deck yet again.

     "Call me any litany of vile epithets and I will be uncaring." I said, walking to where Cassandra lay, a low groan emanating from her lips. "But do not," I kicked her in the gut, satisfied as she curled around herself, " _ever_ ," another kick, "insult my wife!"

     I leaned down and tangled thick, raven hair in my fingers, pulling Cassandra to her knees, a hoarse cry ripping from her throat. For a moment, I pictured her bruised, blood-stained face as my own. It was what I deserved...for I had hurt Leliana more than Cassandra Pentaghast ever could. I had betrayed a vow. I had broken and could not be forgiven...even my own mind could not justify my actions.

     "Do not _ever_ ," I continued, lashing out again with my fist, striking her full across the face, " _lay your hands on her!"_

     I stepped back and Cassandra swayed on her knees, hatred sparking in her cinnamon eyes. The eyes that had rejoiced when Leliana conceded her freedom. The eyes that smiled in triumph when Leliana's hand stayed my swords.

     _I should have killed her then,_ I thought, bitter. _No matter the cost, no matter the consequence, I should have killed her **then.**_

I kicked the Right Hand of the Divine in the jaw, hearing yet another crack, smiling in grim triumph as she slumped to the deck, unconscious, unable to rise. Somehow, even with the blood and the bruising, she looked innocent, as though slumber rendered her free from all the things that made her the nightmare. I held myself at bay, in spite of the murder boiling in my blood.

     _I could kill her now,_ I thought, walking to where she lay prone, and so very, very weak. _It would be so easy...but no. I do not know the scale of what she has done to Leliana, but I am certain that my crimes outweigh her own._ I sighed. _I do not have the right to take her life._

     "Salem!" A voice snapped me from reverie. I turned towards Wynne. "We must get the wounded to the Chantry. An infirmary has been set up there. You must hurry; we haven't much time and the situation is grave."

     "Sergeant Alan," Leliana spoke from behind me, her voice crystal, commanding, precise, and... _lovely_. _Devastating and lovely._ "Follow the senior enchanter to the Amaranthine Chantry. Get the wounded sorted then report to the Revered Mother. I am certain that she will see to billeting for you and your men."

     "Yes, ma'am." an older man with greying hair and a gruff voice saluted and turned to a force of templars, bellowing orders.

     Two young men came forward and lifted Cassandra's unconscious body. I walked to Wynne, who stood and shook her head at me, though she stayed her verbal reprimand.

     "Take care of those two." I looked to the young woman and Cassandra's lieutenant, Kathyra, who were near death's door. "As for that one," I gestured to Cassandra. "Make sure that none of her injuries are life threatening, but beyond that, let her heal in the normal way. Pain is a great reminder of misdeeds."

     "Indeed it is." Wynne replied, her lips turning down at the corners. "Now leave me to my business, child, and face the reminder of your own misdeeds."

     I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned away from Wynne as her healer sense and marvelous efficiency turned to the saving of lives. I looked at Leliana, wanting nothing more than to rush into her arms and hold her close to me. I wanted to be unto her as I had been before...but I could not. I had damaged that trust.

     _Her hair has grown longer,_ tears filled my eyes, _and her eyes are...so tired. What has happened to you, dear heart? What has happened to me...I want nothing more than tot ouch, than to speak, but I find myself frozen. I have no right to be near the one I have betrayed. I have no right to claim the promise that lies in the ring she wears. I am not the woman you left behind...and I am afraid of the woman who left me. Who are we now, Leliana? Who are we now?_

     Sounds rose and died behind me, footsteps, orders, noises of departure, until Leliana and I stood alone on upon the deck of the ship. Silence pounded in my ears like a death knell, fragile and haunting and something too precious to break. I took a hesitant step forward, feeling my heart begin to race. She mirrored my movement...a dance of intimacy remembered and feared, an ocean of thin ice between us. She extended her hand and my breath tremored forth as I reached out, feeling fire along my skin as our hands intertwined, as she pulled me into an embrace so desperate and pure I thought my heart would break.

     I wrapped my arms around her and tangled my fingers in her hair, holding her as her body trembled. I breathed deep, inhaling the scent of fear, blood, sweat, and, beneath that, the smell of fresh spring rain and Andraste's Grace. _Unique. Tantalizing. Leliana._

     "Salem," she whispered my  name and I shivered at the vulnerability in her voice, "I...I thought you lost to me."

     My heart spasmed, painful in my chest, as I placed my traitorous lips against her hair. "I'm here, dear heart." I comforted her. "I am here."

     _For as long as you will have me._ I wrapped my arm about her waist and we followed the trail of templars through the city streets and toward the Chantry. _And that, I fear, will not be for very long._


	82. The Fragile Strength

**Leliana**

     _Do not let go,_ I prayed, staring at Salem's clenched jaw and glittering eyes.

     Her hand against my side and her arm against my back grounded me in the waking world, letting me believe that I was alive, that  _she_ was alive, that  _we_ had a chance and a hope for the future. However, I could see that something in her had changed, altered. I could not discern what, in the silence, but I felt misgivings in my heart. We drew nearer to the Chantry and I moved closer to Salem. 

     _Please, do not let go._

     "Leliana," Wynne's brisk, businesslike tone shredded into the bliss of my reality and I turned my attention to the senior enchanter, "were you with them when they were injured?"

     Salem looked down, the same questions in her eyes. Eyes I had so longed to see that I did not notice the scars within them. I did not fear the death that they promised, and did not think I ever would again. Being separated from her had been all but unbearable, and it might...it might cost us.

     _I cannot believe what she did to Cassandra,_ I wanted to reach up, draw her finely-featured face to mine, and press my lips against hers, crushing her in a life-affirming kiss. _That wrath, that passion, that righteous fury...in **my** defense. And yet...looking into her eyes, feeling her touch...she is worlds away from this moment, and I do not know why. Salem, why will you not speak to me? Why will you not lead me into the flames that burn so bright in your gaze? Why is your touch hesitant? Your embrace unsure? I do not understand, my warden...and I am...I am in pain because of it. _

     "I was." I answered Wynne's question, attempting to distract myself from my own inquiries.

     "Salem, if you can spare her, I need Leliana with me." the healer sliced into the tension between me and my wife. "Her knowledge of their condition and injuries will be invaluable."

     _Do not let go!_ I screamed inside my soul, clinging tighter to Salem as she pulled away...too willing...too soon. _Salem,_ _ **please!**_

     I clutched at her shirt, begging her with my eyes, but she would not _look_ at me. Her eyes focused on some distant horizon, some place of pain that I could not venture, that I could not understand. Cold settled in the pit of my stomach as Salem's beautiful, scarred fingers wrapped around mine and disentangled them from her shirt.

     "Help them." Salem spoke, the rough edges of her voice soothing me. "I will be waiting."

     _Will you?_ I wondered as my warden, my wife, my _existence,_ for the first time, walked away from me. _Come back, damn you! Let me in! You said you forgave me! Wasit a lie!? You, who have **never** lied to me...why...Salem, **why** do I feel deceived? Oh, Maker, what has happened!? What have I **done!?**_

     "Through here." Wynne directed, leading us through a hallway and into a wide room with a fire burning at the far end. I noticed pallets on the floor, lay sisters of the Chantry tending to a few injured men and women, sweeping the floor, taking dirty bedding to the laundry.

     "Here." The senior enchanter stopped us before the fire and the templars set the stretchers down with a gentleness I had witnessed in warriors alone.

     _A peculiar trait, considering their first profession. And yet it was that gentleness that first drew me to Salem, how with one hand she could deal death with skill unmatched, and in the next, soothe a frightened child or...or calm a terrified bard at the edge of sanity. I need that warrior again..._

     "What have we here?" Wynne knelt down beside Kathyra, moving the blanket aside with a delicate touch. Her eyes widened as she saw the shrapnel embedded in the woman's side, the blood-drenched bandages holding it in place. "How long has she been like this?" Wynne asked, lifting her hand to Kathyra's brow.

     "A day and a half." I replied, moving to join Wynne at Kathyra's side. "She was the sole physician onboard ship...I did what I could, Wynne, but my knowledge is sorely lacking."

     "You did well." the senior enchanter nodded. "I am assuming that, being a Chantry ship, there were no mages aboard, even for healing?"

     I glanced at Kestrel, who had not left Rylie's side even once, and who remained there now, holding the injured woman's hand. We shared a smile of secrets.

     "None that bear mentioning." I winked at the green-eyed templar.

     "You and your secrets." Wynne shook her head, a chiding note in her tone that made my heart thrill with the comfort of remembrance. At least one that I loved remained as they were. "The wood, of course, must be removed. And her lung has been damaged. Fortunately, this is no injury that I have not faced."

     "But..." my brow creased in question. "...the infection? The fever? Will you be able to use your magic?"

     Wynne smiled, soft and sorrowful. "Of course, child." she assured me. "Not every case is as difficult a study as your warden. I will be able to close the wound, and with proper treatment the infection can be drawn out and the fever eradicated."

     I bit my lip as I remembered the harsh truth...the first curse stamped in Salem's blood, the curse that had nearly taken her from me too many times to count. Because of that, it was easy to forget that others did not suffer the same malady. That healing magic _was_ a blessing.

     "What do you need me to do?" I slipped into an old pattern, and Wynne patted my shoulder, encouraging.

     The mage held her hands above the wound and nodded at me. "Pull the shrapnel from her side. My spell will stop the bleeding and we can remove the remnants of..."

     "What was once a ship's mast." I replied, pulling my dagger and slicing through the bandages that held the stake in place.

     "Maker's breath." Wynne muttered.

     I wrapped my hand around the blood-slicked piece of wood and pulled, wincing at the hideous sucking sound it made as it tore free from Kathyra's flesh, looking small and harmless in my hand...not the vicious implement that had nearly killed my friend. I flung it into the fire in disgust.

     Relief filled me as no blood followed; as Wynne's magic began its work. The mage held a luminous light crystal in her hand and used it to examine the wound, far more detached than I could ever be. I swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat as Wynne inserted her fingers into the wound, drawing forth several long, jagged splinters.

     "That would be the last of them." Wynne smiled in a peculiar sort of triumph, pressing her hand over the would and releasing her magic, a different spell than any she had used on Salem.

     The magic worked quickly and I watched in awe as veins and bone and muscle begin to mind, a horrid scab covering the gaping hole in Kathyra's side, as the physician's breathing evened and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead. 

      _It seems so...wrong. So wrong that most men and women can be healed with a single touch of magic while...while the woman I love is forced to suffer, to fight for her life at every turn. Maker...why?_

     "I will request that the lay sisters attend to her care through the day and into night." Wynne told me as she bandaged the wound. "Her breathing should be better by sunset. The spell has drained the blood in her lung and begun repairing the tissue, but it will work slowly, so as not to traumatize her weakened body. When she is conscious, we'll begin treating her fever with the appropriate herbs."

     "Is she...is she going to live?" I asked, biting the edge of my lip in worry.

     "If she can continue breathing for herself until the spell completes its work, then yes, she will. The prognosis is good, Leliana."

     Kestrel and I exchanged expressions of relief and I squeezed Wynne's blood-stained hand with gratitude.

     "Now," the healer rose from her knees and moved to Rylie's side, what has happened here?"

     "She...Private Rylie, ma'am," Kestrel spoke, clearly ill at ease with addressing a mage of Wynne's stature, "was struck with a spell when rogue mages attacked our ships."

     Wynne narrowed her eyes at me. "It seems you and Salem both still have the same penchant for trouble that you ever did." she shook her head, but I could not help but see the motherly affection in her gaze _._ In spite of that, worry struck through me. 

     _Trouble...what sort of troubles has Salem endured? In her letter she spoke of darkspawn attacks in Amaranthine...I thought...such things do not daunt her. How could I have been so foolish!? How could I have left!?_

     "The spell cut Rylie quite deeply across the chest." I informed Wynne as the healer gently sliced through the bandaging, witnessing the horrible slash, the burned, cauterized skin, cracked scabs, and weeping wounds. "She lost a great deal of blood...we had no choice, Wynne. The magic used would not let the wound stop bleeding. We did what we had to do."

     Wynne ran her hands over the young templar's body, assessing her condition. "And in so doing, saved her life."

     I watched as a rush of fear left Kestrel, the secret fear that she had done the woman she loved more harm than good. I wanted to comfort her, but I did not know how.

_For I do not know how deeply I have wounded Salem. She is so far away...close enough to touch and yet further from me than when I was in Val Royeaux and she in Highever._

     "It must have cut very deep." Wynne mused as she inspected the cut. "The muscles beneath the skin were torn. She is a private, you said?" Wynne turned to Kestrel.

     "Yes, ma'am." the mage-templar nodded.

     Sorrow filtered into Wynne's blue eyes. "She will not be lifting a sword for quite some time." the healer informed us. "Magic will expedite the healing process, but it is best to let the body heal naturally, if it can. Plenty of fluids for the blood loss, hearty food, and at least a fortnight of bed rest before I will even let her consider light duty."

     "I will ensure she follows your orders, ma'am." Kestrel smiled, too relieved to do anything else. "But she'll be all right?"

     "Indeed she will." Wynne ran her glowing hand across the burned flesh, and I saw the angry redness fade to the soft pink of what would be an impressive scar. Even with age, it would not fade...I felt sympathy for the young woman. To be marked so irrevocably so young was a difficult thing. I prayed she would heal, both in mind and body. _  
_

     Rylie's eyes fluttered open, flashing around in confusion, settling at last on Kestrel's face. She reached up and touched the mage-templar's cheek, a soft smile on her pallid lips.

     "Welcome back, sweet girl." Kestrel whispered, taking Rylie's hand in her own.

     "Am I...going to...stay?" Rylie asked, so soft and vulnerable, her brogue cracking over the words.

     Kestrel nodded and tears spilled from her eyes as she kissed their intertwined hands. Wynne rose and smoothed out her robes, coming to stand by my side.

     "This reminds me of a similar scene." she spoke, low, for my hearing alone. "For surely the love of a noblewoman and a bard is as strange and hard-pressed as that of a templar and a mage."

     "How did you know?" I asked, aghast at the mage's sagacity.

     "I am old and wise, Leliana, or had you forgotten?" Wynne jested. "She would not leave Rylie's side, and her relief was palpable when I spoke of the cauterization. Not only that, but it is clear to my eyes that what sealed that wound was no natural flame." Wynne's hand rested on my shoulder. "She could not have imparted her confidence to a better soul than you, Leliana. Her secret is safe with me, as well you know."

     "What other secrets do you harbor, old woman?" I teased.

     Wynne frowned and the set of her features became serious. "I have no answers, child." she replied to the question that lay beneath the one I had asked. "All I ask is that you be gentle wit Salem. She is...quite fragile."

     _Fragile? **Fragile?** That is **not** a word that could **ever** define Salem Cousland. Heavens, hells, and angels, she beat Cassandra unconscious! I am so lost...and the one I thought would help me, guide me...is not here._

     "Find her, Leliana." Wynne advised. "And get some rest. You look near an exhausted collapse. Your friends will be cared for."

     "Thank you, Wynne." I wrapped the mage in a warm embrace and left the infirmary, seeking out the...the...

     _...the stranger that I love._


	83. Owning My Crimes

**Salem**

     I stood outside the doorway of the ersatz Chantry infirmary, waiting. What I waited for...I did not know. Perhaps for the world to crash down around my ears, for the questions that screamed out from Leliana's eyes to deafen me...she did not want the answers. I did not wish to answer, but I had felt the intensity of her touch, a silent plea of need and longing...to not let go. To not leave her. My failure shouted at me from every shadow in the room.

     _For what have I done but exactly that? What have I done but leave?_

     The doors burst open and a wild mane of red hair flashed forth and back as her head turned, seeking me out. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words did not come. I could not make a sound; could not find the strength to summon her eyes to mine. She found me at last, looked at me, and I averted my gaze.

     "Maker's blood-soaked breath." her voice, exasperated, pierced my ears with beauty and sorrow. "Who in hell _are_ you?"

     The question twisted the knife already in my gut, desperation and absolute _need_ tearing from my throat as I answered, as I always had, with the truth. "I do not know any longer."

     I dared to look at her, seeing the anger in her eyes and, beneath that, the worry that only I could place in those oceans of blue.

     "Is there..." her words were hesitant, stilted, as they had been when first we met. "...is there anywhere we can speak? Privately?"

     "Yes." I replied, wanting to extend a hand, but unwilling to do so. I would not take from her. Not until she had the truth. "The Revered Mother has prepared a room for you for your stay here."

     "Here?" she asked. "Wynne has told me that the wounded will have to remain here for at least a fortnight. Am I not to stay with you? Salem," _my name...my name in that beautiful voice...can it be that I will never again hear her speak to me in love?_ "Salem, I am confused. What is happening here? What has...what has changed you?"

     I wanted nothing more than to tell her as I led the way to the wing where the Chantry sisters resided. I wanted nothing more than to close the door behind her and flee from her intoxicating, devastating presence. I wanted nothing more than to be as we were: young, in love, with _**time...**_ Time had run out for us now. My idiocy and weakness had seen to that.

     _There will never be time now,_ I lamented. _For this is yet another promise to her that I have broken._

     I closed the door behind me, imprisoning myself and my actions in the room with her. I did so against my will, against my mind, but in accordance with the wishes of my heart.

     _I am a Cousland still...though she is more deserving of the name than I am now. But I owe her the truth. I owe her the decision. I owe her my life._

     Leliana collapsed on the edge of the small bed and my heart bled for her as she buried her face in her hands. I stood there, helpless, as shaking sobs wracked her body, as tears beaded in her eyes and slipped through her fingers. I wanted to comfort her. I did not have the right to comfort her, for I had hurt her, though she did not yet know it.

     "I do not," she wept, looking up at me with tear-stained eyes that screamed with grief and exhaustion. "I do not understand, Salem." she rose and walked to me, taking my limp hand in hers, squeezing until I felt pain...the same pain that had jolted me from Velanna's embrace. "Your skin is warm but you are so...so...cold."

     "I cannot ask your forgiveness." I whispered, tormented by the feel of her skin against mine.

     "Oh, Maker..." she breathed, stepping back, covering her mouth with her hand. "I...my dream...oh, Salem...you need not ask forgiveness, my love. I have...I destroy everything that I touch and I...I have done this to you somehow."

     "No." my voice cut across the air and my hands went to her shoulders. "Cease thinking such things this instant, Leliana. you have done _nothing_ wrong."

     "You consistently say that." she muttered, turning her face away. "And I have been, at times, foolish enough to believe you. But you cannot keep placing blame on your shoulders. You cannot continue in this trend of self-destruction..."

     Her words, as much accusations as they were comfort, dug deep into my skin. I fought down the tears that threatened to overwhelm me. I fought down every instinct that roared to ignore my sins and take joy in this moment. I could not. I could not steal from her as all others had stolen. I would be better. I would be different.

     "Leliana,"I whispered, pulling away from her, "please, sit down. There...there is something I must tell you, and it will not be easy to hear."

     Leliana took shaky, stumbling steps to the bed and collapsed. I inhaled, deep, gathering what little strength I possessed. I knelt before her, looking into her beautiful countenance, absorbing every detail: the tears that still slipped down her cheeks, the quivering of her chapped lips, and the deep bruising of exhaustion beneath her eyes.

     "What have I done?" she asked me, and the inquiry felt like a blow to the face.

     "Nothing, Leliana." I answered. "Nothing. You _must_ believe me when I tell you this. I...I am not strong. If ever I was, that time is done. My strength perished with the archdemon, with the knowledge that I am no longer meant for this earth, this life."

     "Salem, no." she interrupted, and I stayed her words with a glance.

     " _Listen to me_." I begged. "Hear me out. When you left, Leliana, as I understand that you _had_ to do, I was called here, to Amaranthine. Ever since my arrival I have been besieged. By battle, by nightmares, by enemies on all sides...I have known revelations that bring me to my knees. I have lost everything once before, Leliana...and it would seem..." I gathered my breath, "...it would seem that I am certain to lose everything yet again."

     "W...what do you mean?" her eyes searched mine, begging for comfort that I could not give, reassurances that I could not offer.

     "The...the darkspawn have evolved." I prefaced my own heartbreak. "Gaining speech and sentience...it is a mad discovery and there is much involved in the telling, but that is unimportant at this moment. These darkspawn...they ravaged a Dalish clan. Only two survived. One was captured; the other survived the attack and began to seek out those who took her sister. The darkspawn planted human weapons at the camp and she believed that her people were killed by Amaranthine's soldiers. I...I went to seek her out, to stop the attacks and...and she told me her sister's tale, and we found the evidence against the darkspawn."

     "Why are you telling me this?" Leliana asked, her eyes aswirl with questions and profound tiredness.

     "So that you understand." _So that you will know why you must hate me._ "We tracked the darkspawn to an abandoned silverite mine. They...they had a camp set up and we were captured. We found the elf's sister there. She freed us and we escaped with our lives, but I...I was not able to save her. We were forced to leave her behind with the creature who has been experimenting on separating the consciousness of darkspawn from their enslavement to the archdemons."

     Her hand brushed through my hair, so soothing and gentle, revealing the neat half-circle of stitches near my temple. Her breath hitched as she touched the ragged, bruised flesh. Her fingers trembled as she realized the severity of the wound...how close she had come to losing me. That would not matter soon enough, for I continued my tale. My failure.

     "The elf...Velanna...we returned with her to the Keep. She wished to take part in the Joining. I..." the confession burned in my throat like acid, "...I have missed you so much, dear heart." I rested my head on her lap and wrapped my arms about her legs, needing this last touch, this last embrace before the sole pure thing in my existence was torn from me. "I have ached daily with your absence and my heart has not stopped bleeding from the wounds dealt us by time and fate. I...I..." I lifted my face and looked into her eyes, drowning in them, "I _love_ you, Leliana. That will _never_ change. But last night...Velanna...she came to me. We shared a moment...a moment of connection, of great grief, of great rage against the gods...an acknowledgement of irreplaceable loss and it flung us together in a manner that only desperation can and..."

     Tears poured from Leliana's eyes and the sight of her sorrow split my soul asunder. Grief, self-loathing, and lava poured from my eyes, burning my cheeks, stinging the open wounds in my spirit as I prepared for my world to end.

     "You...you were...intimate with her?" Leliana asked, her voice so tired, so broken...like a lost child.

     "No." I shook my head, vehement. "A heated kiss...passionate embrace...but it is still a betrayal of you, Leliana. Please believe me when I say I did not do this from lack of love, nor out of anger...but of grief so immense it is unspeakable." I hung my head, awash with a sickening relief as I confessed my crimes. "But it is a betrayal. You...you deserve...you are worth," I withdrew the ring from the third finger of my left hand and pressed it into her palm, "so much more. I cannot ask your forgiveness, Leliana, for I do not deserve it. Please know that I shall not return to her..." I reached up and cupped her cheek with my hand, not daring to look into her eyes. "You are my last love, Leliana Cousland. There can be no other."

     I rose to my feet and walked to the door, feeling naked without the presence of my ring. My heart beat like a dead thing in my chest, cold with despair and the knowledge that, once again, I had nothing left.

     _But I have done the right thing. I have confessed my crime, and I shall not commit it again. No matter her decision, I will not sunder my vows. I will...I will keep breathing...but I can call this existence **living** no longer. In the end...I have stayed true to my name...and it is all that I have left. _

     I reached for the handle of the door and closed my hand around it, pulling it open. I stepped forward and warm, trembling arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me away.

     "Do not leave me." her whisper shook me to my core. It was not laced with anger, nor cold with disdain, nor hissing with resentment. No...her words rang in my ears, scorching and fierce...loving. "Do not _dare_ leave me."


	84. Love Bears all Things

**Leliana**

     _Salem, my love, my life, my **heart,**_ I thought as I clung to her, fierce, unwilling to let her leave, _how did I not know? How did I not realize the magnitude of your suffering? You convinced me, my warden. You convinced me of your strength, your invulnerability, and...and such a fool I have been. All of the times I begged you to allow your humanity to come forth, never realizing that you **had...** I, too, must ask forgiveness. _

     I clutched the ring she had returned to me, closing my hand around it as I had wrapped my arms around her. Slow, soft, tentative, I turned her to face me, witnessing the tears in her eyes, deep wells of anguish, and I knew. I knew that I loved her. And I knew that love, in its fullness, its immensity, it's _irrevocable **truth,**_ could forgive any transgression.

     "Why?" Salem asked, the rough notes of her voice etched with sorrow. "Why, Leliana? Why would you wish me to stay?"

     I kept her imprisoned within my arms and rested my head against her chest, listening to the surety of her heartbeat, grounding myself within it. "Why did you not turn me away when I told you all that I was?" I questioned, gentle. "Why did you let me leave you in the Frostback Mountains? Why did you stay the hand that tortured Rendon Howe? Why did you relinquish your swords in his estate?"

     I lifted my gaze to hers and at last she met it, the scars in her eyes giving way to despair and confusion. I would remedy that.

     "I _love_ you, Salem Cousland." I whispered, reaching up and touching her cheek, seeing for the first time the deepened lines at the corners of her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. Her hair was further streaked with silver, making her seem twice her age and her complexion, always pale, looked even more pallid in the light from the sun.

    _Maker, she looks ill._

     "You shouldn't." she told me, cracking my heart. "Not any longer."

     _How can the woman who defines forgiveness never accept it from another's hand?_

     "Your every action towards me has been motivated by love." I told her the truth as I saw it. "Even the last, this confession which so pains you...it was an act of desperation and unrelenting grief. I understand, Salem. I _understand_."

     "I do not." she confessed, her eyes still faraway, her soul still cold.

     I tucked my finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to mine. "You have forgiven me so many things, Salem. My fears, my weakness, my distrust...my abandonment of you on more than one occasion. You have let me rail against you, and strike you, and never have you wavered in your love; _never_ have you flung my misdeeds against me. Do you think my love for you any less than yours for me?"

     "No. Not that. Never that..." she spoke, her words and body trembling, "...but I...I have betrayed that love, Leliana."

     "By an act nearly committed!?" I asked, incensed by her stubbornness, her intractability. "By a sin you _perceive_ in your own mind to be greater than it is!? _Listen_ to me, Salem Cousland, and _Hear. Me. Well._ I have forgiven far more grievous sins than this, with a whole heart. Do you think Marjolaine stayed true to my bed in the time we were lovers? Do you think that she reserved her touch for me alone? No! She hopped from bed to bed and lover to lover without discrimination and with _no_ thought towards my feelings or my heart. _And I **forgave** it! Out! Of! **Love!**_ **"**

     Salem remained silent, trembling still, tears flowing from eyes so filled with pain that they seemed to bleed. I could not berate her for something so simple, for something she had not truly even done, and would not have done had her heart been whole. I loved her and wanted to be with her. Nothing else mattered.

     "I have so much... _so much_...more than love for you." I whispered, brushing away the tears that scorched her cheeks. "You are a _good_ woman, Salem. There have been no others who would have done as you did." I stayed the words at the edge of her lips with a soft touch. "You, who have been separate from me these last months, cannot see how beautiful and true you are. Your first thought was to give me the truth, no matter the pain you felt and are feeling. You did not seek to alleviate that pain with my presence, to sate your desires before debating on whether or not to reveal the truth. You have kept no secret from me, and have done no wrong in my eyes. I _**love**_ you, my warden, my heart, my wife. I _forgive_ you."

     She wrapped her arms around me, rested her head on my shoulder, and _sobbed_. Pain, grief, and anguish tore from her exhausted, battered body in heart-breaking waves. I held her, longing to impart comfort, to let her heart be at rest after so long, but I could not...not yet.

     _Let this pass, and let her see that mercy can be given._ I prayed. _Let her understand that she need no longer carry such burdens and grief all alone. Let her see that at least one heart aspires to be as open, forgiving, and **loving** as her own. Return to me, Salem. Return to me, for I have never left you and I know that you, in the depth of you, in the core that **is** warmth and passion and beauty, you have never left nor betrayed me. _

     Salem's sobs quieted and she breathed in ragged gasps. "Thank you." she whispered, her breath against my ear making me shiver. "Thank you, dear heart. I love you...how endlessly I love you."

     I propped her up and examined her face, frowning as I did so. Her eyes had entered the present moment, brought here in a flood of tears and unexpressed sorrow. Still, they shone out, too resolute, too placid...inhuman.

     "Take it off." I begged her, tracing my fingers over her fine, severe features, stroking the scar on her cheek. "Please, Salem, take it off...at least for me."

     "I...I do not understand." she whispered in a voice soaked with tears.

     I took her left hand in mine and replaced the ring that she had removed, sealing her vow, impressing upon her the truth. That I needed her, longed for her, wanted her... _forgave_ her.

     "Your mask, my warden." I entreated. "That severe, impassive face that carried you through hell. Please, take it off. Let me see you. Let me see all of you."

     In slow, jerking movements, her lips turned upwards and a pinprick of the conflagration I knew dwelt in her eyes began to shine through. Her hand reached out and she cupped my cheek with such surety that I gasped in relief.

     _Yes, my love. Yes. Trust this. Trust me. Trust that I love you, that I will **never** fault you, and that I will **never** remind you of your shortcomings as you have never brought mine to bear. _

     I reached up and took her hand in my own, pressing her skin further against mine, savoring the feel of her scars, the textured flesh, the physical reminder of a heart too pure for this world. I watched her, smiling, as the fire in her gaze burned brighter, becoming a different sort of strength. The strength that had carried her through the Blight. Not her gift for the sword or her warden blood, but the overwhelming love and devotion that defined her entire being. The love that had saved my life. The love that had given me the ability to forgive myself. The love that had carried me through my ordeal in Val Royeaux and beyond, back into her arms. The love that awakened a silent god.

     _There are so many stories unshared,_ I basked in her gaze, in her warmth, in the presence that was here, that was _**mine.** There are so many things that must be told, on both sides, in both of our hearts. How I have dreamed of this moment, Salem...but I have dreamed it so differently. I have dreamed of wrapping myself in your arms and collapsing, confessing my fears over this new gift...over my new name and title and place in this world. The burden placed on my shoulders by the Maker herself. But I see now that such a time is not to be, yet. I cannot inflict upon you further wounds. I cannot take your beautiful strength for granted. So let me use this time wisely and in love, my warden. Let me heal you as you have ever done for me. _

     "Leliana," Salem spoke, with her _full_ voice, with all of its rough, untutored notes that made it a song in my hearing. "Leliana, may I kiss you?"

     The laugh that broke from me startled us both, but I indulged the emotion, knowing that I laughed for joy, and for healing, and for love. "Yes!" I exclaimed, flinging myself into her embrace. "Oh, Salem, of course yes, no other answer _but **yes!"**_

     Her lips pressed against mine with painstaking tenderness, underlain by ferocity, underlain by passion, underlain by lust. It was the heat of Caridin's forge, the spark of lightning, the turbulence of a hurricane. It was _Salem_ , an unstoppable, unbreakable, divine...and beautifully, tragically human force. It was all that I had ever wanted, what I had dreamed of as a child and sought as a young woman who abandoned childish dreams. I lived a lifetime in that kiss, time and years fading to nothing as Salem poured her love and gratitude into me.

     _You. Are. My. Everything._ I thought, breathless as she pulled away, leaving me haunted by that kiss, longing for more.

     Her eyes lingered over my face and her thumb brushed over the scar in my lip, made by the Maker's touch. Sorrow filled my heart as I realized that, in her eyes, it would be as it was to all others. A mark I had ever possessed, a story I could not share.

     "Are you well, dear heart?" she asked, and my heart thrilled at the familiar endearment. "Truly?"

     "I am tired beyond measure." I answered. "But happy. So very, very happy. Why do you ask, my love?"

     "This..." she feathered her thumb over the scar once more, "...this is new."

     _Salem Cousland has stepped outside of the boundaries of fate..._ The Maker's words rang in my ears. I looked into the eyes of this amazing, _extraordinary_ woman, wrapped myself in the arms that were _mine_...and I crumbled.


	85. The Beauty in Brokenness

**Salem**

     _Maker's breath, what have I done?_

     The question haunted me as Leliana collapsed in my arms, weeping, muttering strings of sentences in incomprehensible Orlesian. I held her close to me, my lips still stinging from her kiss, and stroked my hand up and down her back. Her muscles quivered beneath my hand, the result of tension and over-exertion and...and whatever I had said that catapulted her into this state.

     _She...forgave me._ I struggled to comprehend the truth of it. _She looked into my eyes and gave me nothing but the truth. She still loves me, even after what I have done. Even after what I have become._ The ring she had placed back on my finger solidified her words, her kindness...her love. _I will make myself worthy once again, Leliana,_ I promised her, silent. _I will prove that I am worthy of your love, that I am deserving of your trust._

     Leliana sagged against me and my heart bled at her exhaustion. She looked as though she had not slept in days. Small, angry, red wounds dotted her neck and her left cheek, remnants of what must have been a terrible battle, if the state of her companions was anything to judge by. I did not know how she had persisted through the darkness of our time apart.

     _Even through that, she did not fault me for overtaxing her with my confession. How beautiful you are, Leliana. How beautiful and strong and gracious. Once again, you have proven to me the goodness that remains in the world. Once again, you have given me the strength to go forward. I do not know how this is possible._

     I lifted her in my arms and carried her to the bed, wincing as I realized how light she felt in my grasp. Her words had quieted, her sobs abated, and she looked at me with imploring, devastating eyes, as though begging me to understand something she could not give voice to. I could sense that something within her had broken when I asked of her scar. I did not know why, and I knew that I might not learn. That did not matter. What mattered was being here, with her and for her.

     "It is all right, dear heart." I sat down, holding her in my lap, tucking her hair behind her ear.

     "It isn't." she whispered, chilling me to the bone. "It might never be again, Salem. Do you understand?"

     I smiled, wondering if she had poured out her soul to me in the language that I could not understand; if her confessions would shatter my world as surely as mine would sunder hers. So much lay unsaid between us, but here, in this moment, she was tired, she was hurting, and she needed care. The same care that she had given me so often, without asking for it in return. I owed her this and so much more.

     "I will attempt understanding." I promised, smoothing her hair away from her face. "Later. For now, dear heart, let me care for you. Tell me what you need, anything at all, and I will provide it."

     She rested her head upon my shoulder and sighed, a sound of contentment that startled me. _That you could find comfort in the arms that almost betrayed you, strength in the hands that caressed another...your grace is unfathomable. You are...truly divine, Leliana. How is it that **you** asked for my name, when it is you who have ever been stronger, more passionate, more caring than I could ever fathom? _

     "I am so weary, Salem." she breathed against my neck and I cradled her closer, inhaling her scent, basking in her mere presence. "Weary of this world and what it has done to the both of us. They take us from each other, they attempt to steal our very identities; they torture us and laugh at us and...and treat our blood as gold...as though we are currency to be bartered."

     I kissed her forehead, not understanding the "they" that she referenced, but empathizing with the feeling that lay behind her words. The loneliness. The exhaustion. The thousand voices ringing in my ears from dusk through dawn, accusing me when they needed nothing...demanding things of me when they did not have need.

     "I...Salem, I never knew." Leliana spoke, and her eyelids fluttered as she valiantly clung to the waking world. "I could only sympathize before, but I never understood...forgive me for that, my love."

     "There is nothing to forgive." I whispered, trying to impart comfort, attempting to follow the thread traces of her beleaguered thoughts.

     "You must have been so lonely." she breathed, and I felt the warmth of her tears soak into my shirt. "How could you endure...how could you _survive_...I love you so much and I never...never _understood._ "

     "Understood what, dear heart?" I asked, wondering if she would be able to give me a coherent answer.

     "The burden of an entire world." the tension in her body gave way as she surrendered to her fatigue. "Carrying it when our god was silent...so strong." her clumsy fingers rose to my face, whispering over my scar.

     "Hush now, dear heart." I smiled as I lifted her once more and set her gently on the bed.

     I walked to the window and drew the curtains, darkening the room. I returned to Leliana and began to remove the few pieces of armor that she still wore. I pulled off her boots and removed her socks, attempting to make her more comfortable. Her sleeves were soaked to the elbows with old, dried blood, and I frowned.

     _What did that damn harpy do to all of you?_ I wondered, grateful that I had beaten Cassandra within an inch of her life.

     I grasped the hem of Leliana's shirt and, gentle, eased it upwards, keeping my eyes averted, still hesitant to look at her skin, to indulge my own desires. I would not do so with her in this condition. Leliana shivered and gasped as my hands grazed her ribs. I pulled away.

     "Am I hurting you?" I asked.

     She reached out, taking my hands in hers and drawing them back to her shirt. Her eyes opened with great effort and she smiled. "I love...your hands." she mumbled. "So tender...so gentle...never, Salem...never hesitate to touch me."

     Tears sprang to my eyes as I looked at my hands, callused, worn, covered with scars...unworthy of touching someone so beautiful.

     _But that is the **beauty** of love. _I pulled my wife into a sitting position and eased the shirt up over her head. _Its forgiveness, its acceptance, its ability to see beyond the superficial. At the end of days it will be love alone that can redeem mankind. It will be love alone that saves us._

     I cast the shirt to the floor and caught her by the shoulders, easing her head down onto the pillow, leaning forward and ghosting her lips with a kiss.

     _It is your love that has saved me, Leliana. Countless times._

     I pulled the blankets from beneath her and covered her, admiring the spray of red hair on the pillow, the color as rich as the setting sun. I ran my fingers through it, grateful that she had not turned me away, amazed that she had found it within her heart to forgive me, to continue loving me...to not hold my misdeeds against me. No matter what she would say, that gift, that ability, could only be imparted by a divine heart, a divine being.

     _You are so lovely, Leliana. I will adore and cherish you beyond time itself my beautiful, beautiful wife._

     "Sweet dreams, dear heart." I rose from the bed, intending to leave, to give her peace, to let her sleep.

     "No." she reached out and grasped the edge of my sleeve. "Stay, Salem. Please, stay."

     I blinked rapidly as tears fell, but I removed my boots, returned to the small bed, and lay down. I felt my heart begin to heal as Leliana drew closer to me and flung her arm about my waist, pulling me into her body...we fit together, as we always had.

     "There is," she mumbled, "so much I have to tell you."

     "It will keep." I pressed my lips to her forehead as I turned her and pulled her into my arms, shielding her with my body, holding her as she liked. "Sleep, dear heart. I will not leave you."

     She sighed, content, the last vestige of tension fleeing her. "Promise?"

     I kissed her hair. "Yes, dear heart. We will have time."

     _No matter what I know now, no matter that my life has been cut so horrifically short, I will **make** time, Leliana. I will walk into heaven and tear it down for you. I will give you all that I am, for as long as I may. Neither hell nor heaven, nor god nor men, nor demon nor divine will **ever** tear me from your side. _

     "Thank you, Leliana." I whispered, kissing the bare skin of her shoulder. "I love you. With all my heart, I love you."


End file.
